


To Futures Unknown

by sksNinja



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe- Future Vision, Canon-Typical Violence, Eventual Relationships, Genji Shimada is a Little Shit, M/M, Magical Realism, Missions, NaNoWriMo 2018, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Panic Attacks, Precognition, Strangers to Lovers, hanzo pov, not knowing what you don't know, probably counts as a slow burn, using bad jokes to lighten the mood, we got a ways to go
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-11-12
Updated: 2019-06-20
Packaged: 2019-08-22 19:51:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 22,771
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16604414
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sksNinja/pseuds/sksNinja
Summary: The Shimada family line is blessed by the spirits of dragons.  As creatures existing outside of our space and time, they are able gift their hosts with powers of precognition.Hanzo Shimada, being blessed by twin spirits, is especially adept at seeing into the future.It is not always a good thing.Hanzo sees life as a linear path, each event pointing towards it's end. At least, until he is forced to meet a man who can change fate with a look of his eye, and Hanzo realizes that the future is not as set in stone as he had thought.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> According to my Google Docs, I've been working on this idea since April! So trust me when I say we've got a lot to look forward to.  
> I am once again not following the official NaNoWriMo rules, but I'm taking the time to write at least an hour a day for the course of this month. If we hit the end of the month without the story being completed we'll figure something out (between podfics and writing), but rest assured I won't leave this work unfinished.
> 
> Wish me luck.

This was not how things were supposed to be. 

He wasn’t supposed to be here. He wasn’t supposed to be anywhere.

He was supposed to have died months ago. Throat slit, bleeding out on the wooden floors of the Shimada Estate.

 

Hanzo fidgeted on his seat in the dropship, edging his fingers along the straps holding him in place.

His visions had been steady for years. Everything happening just as predicted. Just as they always had. Seek out the target, forsee the victim’s demise, accept the job, move on to the next. It was rare these days to see a target’s survival. He’d only had a handful of jobs that he’d turn down in the past decade.

Then there had been his last vision, the one that was to be his  _ last  _ vision. His annual return to Hanamura.

_ Climb the gate, dash across the top ledge. Strike the omnic, and beat and kick the nearby guard off the raised platform. Dodge the katana, slipping past the clumsy stab to wrap them in a choke-hold while drawing back on the bow. Release, hit and destroy the phone of the last guard as they run into the large bell, knocking themselves out. Drop the now unconscious guard. Move on. _

No need to move or otherwise bother the bodies, they were all but stepping stones on the path to his end.

_ Approach the altar. Kneel beneath the shadow of the dragons. Lay out the bowl, the feather. Light the incense. Honor Genji the only way you know how. One. Last. Time. Wait for the assassin to appear. _

He had not been able to resist calling out his bluff to the creature in the shadows.    
  
“You are not the first assassin sent to kill me,” he had said. “And you will not be the last.” The lie felt bitter on his tongue.

_ Feel the shadow drop from the rafters, landing with no more weight than that of a feather. _

Hanzo had found bitter pleasure in the skill they obviously carried. 

_ Banter with the confident machine. Reach for Stormbow, grab, pull, release. _

But even at that first arrow, Hanzo could tell something was off.

_ The assassin knocks the arrow to the side... _

But no, a simple turn of their shoulder and they had dodged it instead. A small change perhaps, but Hanzo’s visions were not so fluid a thing . 

Suddenly, the vision Hanzo had seen of this moment for many months was blurring at the edges. He worked to focus past the shift taking place before his very eyes. 

The assassin had seemed to dodge the second arrow even as he drew it, curling down to follow the arch of the shaft as it struck the floor. Again, not where it was supposed to land.

Arrow after arrow missing their mark by an inch, or only at the last second, and Hanzo felt his composure slip as his opponent seemed foresee  _ his  _ movements. The assassin speaking in quips and phrases that did not match the vision Hanzo had seen.

Hanzo could still foresee the end,  _ his  _ end, but whereas before it was akin to gazing into a calm pool, it was now more comparable to looking through a running river, the borders bending unpredictably. Something was wrong.

Hanzo drew and released an arrow to his left. His opponent was already far behind him and to the right. He had not felt this on edge in a fight in years. 

Hanzo very rarely ran low on arrows. In this fight he ran out. One of the arrows had even been sliced in half! He had to resort to using Stormbow itself as a blunt weapon. It was unfathomable. 

All the while the assassin seemed to dodge and shift past his attacks, moving around that which had already been predicted. They had him pinned down, literally. At no point had he seen himself pressed against the cracked railing of the deck outside the shrine, a sword held off of his throat with only the force of his arms. He was sweating. He had not experienced such a fight since… 

Then, as if the assassin could read his mind, they taunted him over his greatest mistake.

“You think you honor your brother Genji with incense and offerings!?" they had sneered. "Honor resides in one’s actions!”

How dare they. How.  **dare.** they. Who were they to lecture him about honor?! To disregard his endeavors!? They knew nothing! They did not know of his burdens. Could not understand his regret. They could not comprehend how it was to feel the weight of your biggest mistake  _ years  _ before making it.

With a show of strength he had thrown the assassin off of himself. And the vision had reshaped it’s form. It was almost over. He need only call on the dragons, the assassin would somehow avoid them, and then it would all end.

It still didn’t prepare him for his dragons being  _ turned  _ on him. To have them reflected back with a dragon of their own.

Hanzo had fallen to his knees, and while he felt the weight of his end pressing down on him, he could not help the confusion running through his mind. He could not help but ask the assassin who they were. Only a true Shimada could control the dragons, and Hanzo knew himself to be the last. He knew soon there would be none at all.

In a moment of clarity, he knew no answer would be given.

_ Without a word the assassin dashes forward, slits his throat, drops his body to the floorboards and… _

But then, once again, that didn’t quite happen. The assassin dashed forward, blade against his throat, then they hesitated... and continued to hesitate. 

The moment seemed to last a small eternity. Impatient for them to finish it, Hanzo had said, “Do it then. Kill me.”

And just like that, everything had fallen apart. No longer could Hanzo foresee an honorable end at the hands of a skilled assassin on the fitting battlefield of his brother’s death. 

Like the snap of a broken chain, the world shifted, recoiled, painfully throwing Hanzo off balance. His head throbbed, his arm and leg  _ burned _ . Sudden visions flew through his mind at the abrupt continuation of his existence. A desert temple, an abandoned castle, the night streets of some foreign town. Visions upon visions appearing from the black nothingness that was supposed to signal his death. All of them looping back to some military base creeping out from the rock of a cliff along the coastline.

Even more jarring than the influx of visions, even more unexpected than his dragons being reflected back upon himself, the words of the phantom in front of him shook him the most.

Yet even as the not-assassin spoke, even as they called him “brother,” Hanzo stood in denial of it all. It was  _ not  _ possible. His brother was dead. 

But as the figure in front of him removed their mask, revealed those eyes, eyes that could “see,” Hanzo knew it was no illusion.

Hanzo could not recall the words spoken as his would-be assassin left, and he was left with the muddy mess of his future stretching before him.

 

The next few months had been clear enough however. 

_ Take another job. Wallow in indecision. Take another. Remember the futility of resisting the future. Seek contact with the impossibility that is Genji. Come to an agreement. Follow Genji to the Mediterranean. To Overwatch.  _

After that however, the future was unclear. Upon arrival to a place known as “Gibraltar” the future grew blurry along the edges. Meditating on his visions only resulted in said visions shifting further out of focus. 

It was unprecedented. Nothing like this had ever happened to him before. It gave him a headache. 

He could see his brother, and he knew now that it  _ had  _ to be his brother. He could see a blonde woman with white wings, a large man covered in armor, and many, many others. He saw them working together for a common goal. Working as a team to make the world a better place. Working to include him on that team. They would not succeed.

 

At least… he didn’t think so. His headache grew any time he tried to hone his visions, but it was as if the future was full of holes. Full of gaps that shifted and warped everything surrounding them. Even as he sat in the dropship and concentrated on the vision of his arrival at the watchpoint, it blurred, faded, and disappeared. 

Previously, he would have seen this as a sign that the vessel was going to crash. That he would die before reaching his brother and his ill-thought scheme for redemption. 

But no, Hanzo could see futures past that. There was just a strange sudden gap of a future he could not see. His head hurt. The dragons roiled unpleasantly in his chest. He supposed he would have to wait and see, just like everyone else.

 

Hanzo drew himself back to the present. He would have to settle for visions of the near-future instead.

_ The lone pilot, Agent Oxton, attempts to make small talk, refills their coffee. Hanzo ignores them. They overfill their mug. They give up on talking. They clean up. Hanzo remains silent. _

Easy. Predictable. Familiar.

Hanzo knew they would land after that and then... Hanzo did not know. Not knowing made him uncomfortable, and he absently rubbed at his shoulder as the dragons shared in his displeasure.

 

A few minutes later agent Oxton came down the ramp from the cockpit, wielding an empty mug.

“You know you don’t gotta stay strapped in the whole flight right?” she asked.

Hanzo remained stoic, holding his expression in place.

“Umm,” she rocked back and forth on her heels. “I was just refilling my coffee if you wanted some?” She trailed off on the question, and waited a moment. As the moment passed she stepped off to the side to fill their own mug. “Guess not,” she muttered.

Agent Oxton looked in the direction Hanzo was facing, seeing him staring at nothing. She whipped back around at the sound of coffee spilling out onto the counter and floor, and swore sharply as they rushed to turn off the machine.

Silence reigned through the dropship, save for the gentle hum of the ship’s engines, and the sound of the coffee slowly dripping to the floor. 

Agent Oxton did not speak as she stiffly fetched paper towels and cleaned up the mess. Hanzo too remained silent. Afterwards, Agent Oxton returned to their seat. Her mug forgotten on the table.

Hanzo let out a sigh as he rubbed at his sore thigh. At least that vision had remained unchanged. All that was left to do now was wait.

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Remember how I was gonna space these out? Yeah well, I got impatient. Enjoy <3

Hanzo was seven years old the first time he saw his brother die.

The young boys were playing on the bridge leading into the gardens when he caught sight of a blue wisp out of the corner of his eye. He reached out to touch it, and with only a brush of his small hand, he experienced his first vision.

_It is night. A tall stranger looms with a long gleaming sword in front of a massive dragon scroll. They have long black hair, and stand trembling with rage. There is yelling, and another stranger, this one with green hair, yells back. They move. There is blue and green and RED, RED, SO MUCH RED._

Hanzo woke on the ground moments later, screaming and crying. His head hurt, his eyes hurt, his right leg and left arm _burned_.

The clan celebrated the appearance of what seemed to be not one, but _two_ dragons. The markings on his young body not yet fully formed. As a child, Hanzo did not quite understand what it meant, what any of if meant, but at the same time, he understood exactly what it would mean. Looking back, even with only the first blue smudges of his bond, he already understood too much.

By the time he was ten, Hanzo’s “tattoos” were fully formed, the lines of his fate as clear as the scales on his arm and leg. His visions were already taking root in his future. His precognitive abilities already in use by the clan.

By the time he was twelve, Hanzo realized the terrifying stranger he saw in his first vision was himself.

At fourteen, he knew the man he would kill was his brother.

Hanzo had denied it with every fiber of his being. Fought against it in every way possible. Genji’s own gift allowed him to react instantaneously to the world around him. By the time Genji was a teenager he could react to, and even deflect, gunfire. Surely Hanzo’s vision was only a possibility. If anyone could change the future it was Genji.

Yet despite his attempts to deter his brother's habits, Genji refused to change his ways. When the time finally came, Hanzo even went so far as to confess to visions he had seen. To offer one last attempt to change that which he knew was about to happen. Yet even as Hanzo yelled the words, he knew it would have no effect on Genji. They had been the same words that the stranger from his first vision has screamed all those years ago. The the path before them had been laid out. It would not, could not change.

No, if Hanzo had learned anything, it was that the future was absolute.

 

Which was exactly why the dropship’s landing in Gibraltar was so unsettling.

Within the last 30 minutes of their final approach, Hanzo first foresaw Genji greeting him awkwardly upon landing, then instead he saw himself being greeted by strangers in his brother’s absence, and shortly after that he saw nothing of their landing at all.

With years of practice, Hanzo was able to foresee every moment of his day if he so chose. Most of the time he would merely glance ahead to see the outline of his day, the moments inbetween more blurred, like the background of a photograph.

But this… this was different. Even in the scraps of the future he could see past the ship’s supposed landing, the results were almost... fluid. The sensation was entirely foreign to him. If his visions were akin to snap-shots, then this was a photo album full of missing and out of focus pictures.

Hanzo was unused to such gaps in his visions.

He did not like it.

The ship shook and settled upon finally landing, and Hanzo hastened to unbuckle himself. He had to move, had to leave, had to _see_.

He left his few belonging where they had been stored and rushed to stand before the dropship’s door as it lowered.

Four people stood upon the landing. His brother, a blonde woman, a gorilla, and a… cowboy?

Hanzo nearly reared back as his mind fumbled. He had seen _nothing at all_ of a cowboy.

The gorilla was speaking, apologizing for startling him, but Hanzo was not listening. The gorilla had not been a surprise. He had witnessed plenty of _him_ in the future.

Instead, Hanzo stepped forward to stare at the bearded stranger with the beat-up hat, a metal arm, and red blanket around his shoulders.  

Nothing. Hanzo found he could glean nothing aside from the obvious brown hair, brown eyes, and confused expression.

He whipped his head to face the gorilla, looking him in the eyes. The gorilla, flinched, but Hanzo paid that no mind. The air felt strangely thick, but Hanzo pushed past the sensation.

_Winston, the result of a genetic experiment on the Horizon Lunar Colony. Intelligent, kind, and trusting. Not one to be trifled with. Bad temper, good leader._

One to be shown respect.

Hanzo turned next to the blonde woman. She did not flinch, her eyes set in a hard line.

_Dr. Angela Ziegler, codename “Mercy,” brilliant, stubborn, unparalleled in the art of healing, the one responsible for saving Genji’s life._

She did not trust Hanzo. Good, that meant she was smart.

Hanzo turned to the cowboy once more, and saw...

Still nothing. He could not so much as glean a name from the tall man.

They were all staring at Hanzo now. Even the pilot, _Lena Oxton, codename “Tracer,” near victim of the Slipstream Project,_ stood silently nearby.

Hanzo glanced at Genji, wishing he did not have his visor on so that he could read him more clearly. _Curiosity, amusement, the feeling of a question being answered._ It told him next to nothing.

His glared returned to the cowboy as Hanzo finally spoke, “What is this? Who are you?”

The cowboy stared back, brows furrowed, “Uhhh,” he turned to Genji. “You did tell him why he’s here right?”

“Yes of course,” Genji scoffed lightly. “No doubt he already knows everyone’s shoe size, favorite color, and most embarrassing childhood secret.” He tilted his head, and continued slowly. “Except I think, for yours McCree.”

McCree! A name! Hanzo took a step closer towards this McCree, holding eye contact as intensely as possible. The pressure in his head increased, his ears ringing. He could feel the glow of blue in his eyes as the dragons pressed upon the limits of his skin. McCree... McCree… the name repeated in his head as he put every ounce of his focus on the man standing in front of him. The world around him fell away, the shrieking in the background growing louder as he pushed himself harder… just a little. bit. harder...

A glimpse of a red skull and Hanzo found himself lying on the ground.

He looked up to see Genji holding an arm out to stop anyone from approaching. No doubt Genji knew that Hanzo would not react well to the other’s touching him. He sat up, breathing heavily, sweat matting loose strands of hair to his face. The dragon’s were silent, the future was blank.

Hanzo stared up at the one they called McCree. What just happened? What did it mean?

Who was this man?

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Maybe one day McCree will be able to say more than one line. This is not that day. Tomorrow's not looking too good either.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapters almost as long as the first two combined, and that's after I split one of the later scenes into what will be the next chapter. Go me.

After Genji “died”, Hanzo spent more time than he would care to admit watching the future for signs of Genji. He knew Genji was dead. He had seen it coming for years. He himself had been the one to murder him, but it still did not stop him from looking.

Sometimes he could have sworn he saw... something, but Hanzo’s visions held little weight those first few years. Between the stress of the clan and his own guilt, he was not in a good place. Too much of his time drenched in a stupor of various substances.

Who was he to guess what was or wasn’t real?

Although, as Hanzo sat on the edge of the stiff mattress in his newly-assigned room, he couldn’t help but wonder if maybe he _had_ actually seen something all those years ago.

The existence of the cowboy, of this McCree, changed everything Hanzo had known to be true.

If this anomaly had been in Genji’s presence after his not-death, as it seemed was the case, it would explain why he never saw Genji in his visions. By the time his brother and the cowboy had gone their separate ways, Genji was a different man, in body and in spirit. As it was, Hanzo could barely recognize him now.

It had been almost a week since Hanzo’s arrival at the watchpoint. After his initial collapse, he had brushed off the conflicted concern of those present, and Genji had brought Hanzo to his small, but private quarters, leaving him to settle in on his own time. The “welcoming package” given to him by Commander Winston laid untouched. What kind of post-military vigilante organization offered gift baskets anyways?

Hanzo was to be treated as a provisional agent, with the tentative goal to be incorporated into the team’s roster. Genji had explained that the local A.I. kept watch over the base, and that he was already entered into the system. That he was free to explore the base, and he encouraged him to familiarize himself with the watchpoint and it’s other residents.

Yet even after several days, Hanzo found had hardly made any progress.

While Hanzo had always tended to be more subdued than his brother, he found himself sequestered in his room more often than he was comfortable with. Hanzo appreciated having his own space, relished the safety of the base, and time to mentally recharge, but the rooms blank walls and cold stale air were quickly becoming oppressive.

So far, the only areas he had yet to familiarize with himself with were the kitchen and the showers, and even those he had taken to visiting during odd hours of the day.

It was entirely the cowboy’s fault. Even while taking care to avoid further interactions with the man, he still managed to interfere with Hanzo’s life. The whole base emanated with his presence. It was if there were a blanket over his senses. It was worse than being drugged.

Hanzo would be brushing his teeth before bed, and the knowledge of him sulking back to his room would fade to nothingness as the cowboy approached to use the facilities.

Hanzo would attempt to explore the areas around his room, then would feel the buzzing darkness that heralded the man's passing.

Once, Genji had coaxed Hanzo into observing some of the team’s training simulations, encouraging him to familiarize himself with the team’s skills and abilities. To inspect the quality of their supply and their training grounds. He knew Genji had other motives of course, but he could concede to points he had made.

At least until Hanzo found himself stopped sharply outside of the room’s door. He could see nothing past the metal of the doorframe. Clearly the cowboy was included in said training.

Hanzo had stood outside the door for an unknown amount of time, deliberating his options. He could, he _should_ , push through into the unknown. What was he so afraid of? He was _Hanzo Shimada!_ A man, no an assassin, to be feared and respected! A force to be reckoned with! What could they possibly do to him? What was the worst that could happen? In an unfamiliar room... filled with armed strangers...

And that was just it, he _didn’t know_.

Hanzo walked back to his room alone.

Hanzo-always-prepared-for-everything-Shimada couldn’t bring himself to open a door. _Disgraceful_. He had never known how much he had come to rely upon his precognition until it had been taken from him.

Days passed, each one as uneventful as the one before. The welcoming package Hanzo had received contained little more than a set of bedsheets, toiletries, and a few sets of clothing emblazoned with the outdated Overwatch logo. His visions showed him doing little more eating, sleeping, and sitting in his room. It was torture.

At least, until one morning some two weeks into his stay.

Hanzo awoke feeling oddly well rested, his mind seemingly clear for the first time since his arrival. Hanzo hadn’t realized how hazy his mind had been until the mist had cleared. He immediately focused on his visions of the day.

_Jog the trail leading down to the beach. Rush through breakfast. Finally explore the training grounds. Forget lunch while practicing. Interact with two new teammates while eating dinner. Meet with Genji atop the com tower at sunset. Fall asleep early. Exhausted._

Hanzo’s eyes snapped open! Yes! Finally! A day not spent staring blankly at the surrounding walls! He dressed quickly for his run, not having known of any good trails until that very moment.

There was one path leading down unto the beach, and another that ran switch-back up the cliffs into the woods!  He was determined to run them both, his pace closer to a sprint than a jog, his breaths heaving. He _needed_ to run them, needed to see and feel and experience the fruition of a properly uninterrupted vision.

He found both trails were a reasonably close distance to the watchpoint, and concealed enough that he could easily convince himself to use them again in the future. Now that he had seen them in person he knew could handle returning to them even if his visions blurred upon the cowboy’s return from… wherever he was. Such thoughts didn’t even bother him, so wonderful it was to finally be freed from his self-imposed seclusion!

The shower afterwards was well needed, although he did little more than the minimal amount of scrubbing and rinsing, his mind already buzzing with thoughts of the rest of his day.

Breakfast consisted of two eggs over as much rice as he could manage to fit in one bowl. It was perhaps more than necessary, but he knew of course that he would be forgetting lunch.

As he made his way to a table in the main dining area, Hanzo caught sight of plump Asian woman reading over her breakfast. She offered a curious smile and a small wave. After a moment, and a slight tilt of her head, she introduced herself as Mei.

_Dr. Mei-Ling Zhou. Innovative. Loyal. A woman with a strong spirit and a tragic past. An unconventional but brilliant scientist in her own right._

This time next month, her dislike of him would be nearly palpable.

“Dr. Zhou. Good morning.” He offered a bow at the waist. He may as well show her the respect she deserved while he still could.

Hanzo caught her surprise at either the title and the tone, but he dove into his breakfast without further comment, eating it with a gusto bordering on rude. He was eager to grab his gear and visit the training grounds.

The grounds themselves were even better than what his visions had shown him. Massive in size, and separated out into different areas to account for different training purposes.

A large area was set up akin to most exercise gyms; free weights, machines, treadmills, bikes. All the standards. Perfect for cold rainy Mediterranean days, when jogging outside was not an option. He could see himself plugging in headphones and zoning out in future mornings.

Another military standard was the shooting gallery, equipped with interchangeable settings and hard light targets. Less standard was the specialized machine that scanned weapons and ammo to be recreated, also in hard light, in order to avoid wasted materials. Hanzo looked forward to seeing how the hard-light versions of his gear would stand up to his normal regime. He could already tell he would be impressed. He set Stormbow and one of his arrows in place for the apparatus to scan, file, and reproduce for later.  
  
He wasn’t sure how many agents had been sent out on what he assumed was a mission, but Hanzo could tell that of the few remaining, no one would bother his possessions if he left them there for now.

Perhaps his favorite area of the training grounds was the freestyle bot-fighting arena that was branched off of an open section of the cliffs. The training bots could be programmed as allies or enemies, and could be set to stand, fight, patrol, or some combination of all three. There were stairs and landings, ledges and moving platforms. It was a ninja’s dream. Actual ammo was allowed, and actually encouraged, with the bots being able to rebuild and recharge themselves after a set time. Even without looking into the future, he could tell that he would spend many hours here.

Hanzo also discovered a virtual reality area for recreating to-scale maps for mission planning and group training exercises. While interesting, the large empty simulations were somewhat unsettling, and he knew it would still be some time before he would be joining any of the others in such trials. After a brief glance into some of the pre-programed maps he moved back to the previous areas of the grounds.

The sun had already begun to set by the time Hanzo retired from his training. He was sore from head to toe, but it was a good ache, one that stood as a testament to how much he had been slacking as of late. The shower afterwards was even more magnificent than the one he had taken after his run earlier that morning.

He had seen that the base's shared kitchen would be in use at this time, but he deemed the confrontation acceptable, especially considering how hungry he was. He focused on what supplies had been stocked and what he might make from them. The clarity of his sight finally sharp enough to be useful for such small things. Ah, okonomiyaki, perfect.

Hanzo walked in, ignoring the pair attempting to improve their cup ramen, and swiftly began gathering items and ingredients for his meal.

_Cabbage, eggs, and pork belly in the fridge. Flour, oil, onion, and carrots in the pantry. There is no dashi stock left so use soy sauce and fish sauce instead. They do have the right kind of mayonnaise but not the okonomiyaki sauce. Can substitute some sweet barbecue sauce in its place. The owner … hmm, probably won’t notice._

_No clean cutting boards, will have to wash one. The utensils are to the left of the sink. The bowls below that. The pans are in the cupboard nearby the oven. Use the 3rd largest one as it sticks the least. Knives are along the magnetic strip along the wall. Wash before use, previous user only rinsed them._

Hanzo had everything arranged and was nearly finished slicing the vegetables before one of the other agents in the room spoke up.

“You know, I still really don’t know what to think of you,” they said.

Hanzo took a fortifying breath, and turned to face them.

_Hana Song. Callsign: D.Va. Competent Mechanic. Competitive to a fault. Wise beyond her years. Not easily deterred. Stubborn._

Hanzo resigned himself to many future “gaming nights.”

Her companion elbowed her for being rude, but Hanzo honestly didn’t mind. He turned to face her friend as well.

_Lúcio Correia dos Santos, goes by Lúcio. A bit older than Agent Song. Endlessly patient. Impossibly kind. Once overthrew a multinational organization in order to do what he thought was right. Likes music._

He may very well never forgive him after next month.

Hanzo knew what was coming. “You have questions about my abilities,” he sighed. “Ask them.”

“Well I mean, yeah,” she started, seeming to have been caught off guard. “But not just that!” She crossed her arms and looked him up and down. “I mean we’ve hardly-”

“It is related,” Hanzo interrupted. “You have not seen me around base as the cowboy’s presence interferes with my visions,” he shrugged and turned back to his vegetables. “He is not here so I am finally able to ‘see’ and explore my fill.” He paused as he realized he had miss-stepped. “My apologizes for cutting off your question Agent Song. It has been some time since my skills were unclouded. I am a bit ahead of myself today.”

Agent Song’s mouth snapped shut. She had stepped forward and had been about to tear Hanzo a new one for telling her to ask questions and then instantly interrupting her, but then Hanzo had gone and apologized before she could even get started. She seemed to stop herself, and shifted her weight onto one leg, staring intently, waiting for...

Hanzo paused again and looked at her. After a moment he spoke, “Yes I knew where everything in the kitchen was because I could ‘see’ it. Yes, I knew you wanted me to answer that question without you asking it.” He narrowed his eyes with a slight pause, “and no, I do not know what number you’re thinking of but you don’t have a number picked so it hardly matters.”

“Whoa,” Agent Santos said, eyes widened in awe, “That’s wild.”

“I _can_ keep going,” Hanzo said answering another unspoken question, “but I would prefer you vocalize your questions while I work. Precognition to this extent requires either eye direct contact, or the summoning of my dragons.”

“Oh! Dragon question then!” Hana exclaimed.

Hanzo rolled his eyes and turned to prepare the batter.

“What do ‘dragon spirits,’” she drew the quotes with her hands, “have to do with future vision?”

He thought for a moment, answering such a question would have been forbidden to those outside of the clan, but such secrecy hardly mattered anymore. Besides, his current audience would offer no more a threat for having said knowledge.

“The spirits that dwell within the bloodline of our clan exist on a plane outside of our space and time," he shrugged. "They see the fluctuation of our existence differently than we do. In the same way a two dimensional object on a three dimensional plane are a world apart, so too are our lives compared to that of the dragons.” Sensing her uncertainty he added, “Is it really such a stretch to believe they grant their hosts but a tasted of that worldview?”

“Hmm, okay sure. But then why is your power so different from Genji’s?” Agent Song asked. “And what do the dragons actually do when you summon them?”

“In essence,” Hanzo began, “our powers _are_ the same.” Hanzo added oil to the pan to heat it while he mixed approximately half of the cabbage and batter together, coating it evenly. “Genji’s visions are near instantaneous. It is what allows him his split-second reaction time. Were you to throw a punch at him he would actually be able see it coming and react to it before you so much as raised your hand.”

Hanzo poured the savory pancake-like mix into the pan, laying the pork belly in strips on top. “I differ in that I house twin spirits in my being,” he gestured to his left arm and right leg. “As for when they are summoned into this world, they simply pull that which they are attacking into the reality of their dimension. The change in the state of matter destroys that which lies in their path.” He paused a moment. “At least within our realm it does.” He flipped the okonomiyaki. Perfectly golden. “With proper concentration the dragons will only destroy that which is seen to be an enemy. I could release them here and they would pass harmless through the walls without causing a scratch.”

He gave the pair a knowing glance. They had taken a seat on a couple of the kitchen’s barstools. Agent Santos was leaning forward in rapt attention. Song had her phone out.

“It takes a considerable amount of focus and energy,” Hanzo said. “So no, I will not be summoning them to demonstrate.”

“Awww!” They whined.

Hanzo moved his first savory pancake to a plate, and added the remaining ingredients together for the second, pouring it into the pan.

“Oh alright,” Agent Song conceded. “I guess that’s fair.” She paused in thought, “So what’s up with McCree then?”

Hanzo stopped, staring blankly ahead as the oil sizzled. “I... do not actually know,” he admitted. “There has never been anyone or anything able to block my visions in such a way.” He hesitated, “In close proximity, Agent McCree renders my visions completely null.”

Even Genji, for all his bravado, could only nudge his visions one way or another. To know that someone existed who could erase them entirely was endlessly unsettling. He tried not to think too hard about it. At least he would be meeting with his brother after dinner. Hopefully he would be able to shed some light on the situation.

Hanzo was so lost in thought, he nearly forgot to flip his food. The one side was now slightly darker than he would have liked. He frowned at it and blamed the cowboy.

“I guess it is pretty weird,” Agent Song spoke up. “The guys a good shot, and I mean a _scary_ good shot, but I don’t know that there’s anything supernatural about it.”

“Yeah yeah, but have you seen him when he’s all super intense?” Agent Santos asked. “He gets all quiet and still, and then BANG!” he threw up finger guns. “Perfect bullseye every time.”

“Yeah, that _is_ true,” Song agreed.

“Oh! And there’s that time Tracer saw him shoot 9 targets with his six-shooter.” Santos added.

Agent Song waved a hand in a dismissive gesture, “Yeah I heard about that too. I still say she just rewound herself as he was shooting and heard the same shots more than once.”

Hanzo flipped the second okonomiyaki onto his plate, turning off the stove and adding his toppings before moving to the dining hall to eat.

The two agents followed along while debating the possibilities of the cowboy wielding secret powers, comparing him to other agents on the team whose skills were already known to be supernatural. Hanzo himself included among them.

“You know,” Agent Song said at a lull in the conversation, “I’m still surprised how much you’ve actually talked with us.” She tilted her head at Hanzo. “The way Tracer went on, I hardly expected more than a ‘hello’ when you walked in here like you owned the place.”

“Agent Oxton?” Hanzo resisted scoffing. “I simply knew a brief period of silence would be enough to deter her usual fanatical chatter.” He decided not to comment on his nervousness at the time over the ships unseen landing. “I can tell such tactics would not work on you,” he said instead.

Hanzo felt the error as soon as he had spoken. Fork frozen in front of his mouth. He turned to look at her.

_Training interruptions. Knocking on his door. Incessant questions over Poke’mon egg stats._

Wise beyond her years indeed. He should have kept a better eye on the girl. Her subtle cleverness was on par with that of the clan elders.

“Soooooo,” Agent Song drew out the word, a smile stretching across her face. “What you're saying, is that if I’m stubborn enough-”

“No,” Hanzo interrupted, shoulders raised defensively. He picked up his mostly empty plate to return to the kitchen. 

Agent Song simply crossed her ankle over her knee and leaned forward on one elbow, resting her face against her palm.

Hanzo paused to look back from the doorway. "No," he repeated before disappearing inside.

“Yeah,” she nodded slowly. “I think we’re gonna be good friends.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Poke'mon BFFs for life.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah so it's pretty clear we won't finish this fic by the end of the month, but rest assured the story will continue (albeit at a slower update pace)! Till then lets keep going!

 

During its heyday, Watchpoint Gibraltar had been a beacon of the future, it’s structures covered with communication hubs and towers. It was, for many reasons, unsurprising to find Genji atop the tallest of the base's towers.

If Hanzo had not already known where Genji would be, he would have been hard pressed to spot his brother quietly sitting amongst the metal rafters, his form blending in with the softly blinking lights.

Hanzo approached the base of the tower and waited quietly, simply enjoying the fading glow of the setting sun. Another time he might have been impatient, eager to get the conversation over with, aware that the discussion would not be wholly pleasant. But it had been a good day. He was overall pleased enough with the control his visions leant him than to let a difference of opinions bother him too much.

Hanzo only spoke up as the last lights of the sun faded over the horizon, the stars slowly making their appearance. “I am not afraid of the cowboy,” He said to the open air.

Silence. Hanzo sighed. “Genji you know I know you are there.” He looked up, barely able to see the outline of his brother's form. He was looking away, seemingly staring up at the sky.

Several more moments passed. “Will you just come down already?!” He glared up, squinting as he tried to read more into what his brother was thinking. “You know I can barely see-” he cut off. Oh, that was just it wasn’t it?

They always said the eyes are the windows to the soul. Hanzo didn’t know if soul-searching had anything to do with it, but his skills were always that much more precise if he could look his target in the eye. Omnics were more difficult of course. The grand debate of Omnic souls aside, he was never sure where to stare on their faceplates. Under the same reasoning, Hanzo could use pictures and photographs to an extent, and while he had used them to complete mercenary contracts in the past, they did not offer nearly as much clarity. Instead, he would often scout the target for a few days before making his move.

When they were young, if Genji had a secret he wanted to keep his brother would do everything he could to avoid looking his brother in the eyes, once even going so far as to blindfold himself. Hanzo had already known about the training bow of his that had been dropped into the pond, but he also knew they would be getting him a better one soon, and so he let Genji think himself clever for hiding his mistake so well.

If Genji was avoiding his gaze, if he was making a point of keeping his faceplate on, it was because he didn't want Hanzo reading into him. That was alright, Hanzo could wait. He could see that much at least. Hanzo knelt down at the base of the tower, making a point to keep his unfocused gaze on the horizon. “I am not afraid of the cowboy,” he repeated.

Hanzo thought on how was odd for him to be the one to break the silence. His brother had never been the patient one. It was an odd change of pace. As he knelt, Hanzo noticed the tension he was holding in his shoulders, and he did his best to relax himself, taking a slow breath in, and a slow breath out. “I will do my best to listen to what you have to say,” he said after a time. "I will let you finish before speaking," he added as an afterthought.

One last moment of silence reigned before Genji finally spoke, “I had wondered whether you would find me once McCree left.” A pause, “I wasn’t going to accuse you of being afraid.”

Hanzo breathed in slowly, but held his tongue, focusing on the nearly indistinguishable line between the darkening sea and sky.

_Uncertainty. Concern. The desire to-_

Hanzo pushed the feeling away. He had promised to concentrate on the present. He pushed the curiosity of the dragons down, patiently waiting for Genji to continue.

Hanzo nearly spun around as he heard Genji drop from the tower. He caught himself in time, and heard a small hum of approval as Genji moved to sit cross legged on the opposite side. At least he could hear him more clearly from there.

“What I was going to say…” Genji hesitated before continuing, “Is that it would be normal to be afraid in a situation such as this.”

Hanzo fidgeted, edging the fabric of his pants between his fingers, unsure of where Genji was going with this, of how he was supposed to respond.

Thankfully, Genji seemed to take this a sign to continue.

“When I first came to Overwatch after,” he hesitated, “everything... I thought my powers had died, bled out on the floors of Shimada Castle.

Hanzo only barely stopped himself from turning around.

Genji continued as though he had not noticed, “Everything was cold and slow. My thoughts, my movements... it was as if I had lost my soul. Between that and the physical changes....”

Hanzo held his fists closed, his jaw clenched almost painfully.

“Not only could I not foresee the movements of others, I felt as if I couldn't control my own.” The night air brought a chill as the breeze blew over them. “I walked into corners. I dropped glasses. I tripped over words. Even as I adjusted to my new body I still felt as if a part of me was missing. That I was incomplete, and would never be whole again.”

Hanzo hated hearing this, but knew that he had to listen. There was more purpose to this story than to feed him more guilt. Hanzo could feel it. He just had to hold on a little longer. Just hold on and hope the nightmares would be merciful.

“I almost entirely stopped talking to anyone.” Genji said. “I spent most all day of every day staring at the walls in my quarters. Only sneaking out for food, training, or for doctor appointments.” He paused again, “Thought I would have never admitted it, I was afraid.”

Hanzo felt more than saw his brother turn to face him. He could feel Genji's gaze on the back of his head. “I had never known how much I had come to rely on my abilities until they were taken away,” Genji said.

Hanzo tried to focus on what Genji was trying to say. On what he had meant when he said it was “normal” to be afraid. Genji had been through what Hanzo was feeling. Had been afraid. But Genji had had it so much worse. He had not even know there was a block. That compared with… everything else, just made his own struggles that much more feeble.

“It took us almost a year to realize McCree’s interference with my abilities.” Genji said. “Not until the first time I saw him use his ‘Deadeye.’”

Deadeye? What kind of name was that? Hanzo could sense the fringe of something important, something about this... ability, but could not manage to focus on it. He caught himself tensing up once again, and worked to relax his shoulders once more. He needed not to dwell on Genji’s painful beginnings with Overwatch, no matter how much they pulled at him. Genji was trying to relate to with his brother’s  experiences, regardless of the differences. 

Hanzo wanted to yell at him, scream about how it wasn't the same, how he shouldn't be having these problems, how he should just be able to handle it and move on. Move on despite the fact he should never have been here in the first place. Despite the fact he shouldn't even be alive. 

But that was not the conversation he saw before them. Instead Hanzo replied, “Could you perhaps be a tad less dramatic?”

Genji huffed an unbelieving laugh, turning back to face away from Hanzo. He seemed both surprised and relieved at Hanzo’s forced nonchalance. While he could surely sense Hanzo's anxiety, it seemed he too was following the more peaceful script.

“I don’t want to hear that from _you_ ,” Genji said, seeming to gather himself before continuing. “And ‘Deadeye’ is really what he calls it. You’ll have to ask him if you want to know more, but I doubt even he truly understands it.”

Hanzo could think of few things he would like to do less, than to purposefully spend time with that mind-numbing excuse of an anachronism .

Seeming to sense Hanzo’s skepticism, Genji added, “You’ll have to eventually you know. The only way you’ll learn to work around the gaps is with time.”

Genji paused, and Hanzo could sense his brother was hiding something else. He waited for the inevitable disappointment he could feel approaching.

“Which is why I asked Winston to make your participation in our training exercises mandatory,” Genji said.

Hanzo let out a sigh, leaning his head back to thump against the tower. This time he did close his eyes and look to the future.

_Wake-up, train, explore. Wake-up, train, explore. Wake-up... numbness._

Two days. He had two days before the team and the cowboy would return, and he could expect to return to the blurry days of boredom, frustration, and now apparently life-threatening situations.

That was enough. Genji had said his piece, shared his thoughts. Nothing further was required of Hanzo. Exhausted, Hanzo stood up, thanked his brother for his time, and went to bed early.

 

* * *

 

The first day Hanzo had explored the training grounds, he had spent more than half the day enjoying it’s magnificence.

Training with the rest of the team however, Hanzo wondered if he might have preferred his self-imposed solitude.

The first day after the team had returned, and after Hanzo had hesitantly agreed to participate in drills (what choice did he have?), Commander Winston had asked for a demonstration of his archery skills. Something to build team cohesion, or some such nonsense. 

The team had gathered together to watch him in the hard-light shooting gallery, eager to witness the archer's skills for themselves. The cowboy of course was included.

Hanzo was not one to bend under pressure. He had stood before the elders countless times. Easily proving his skills with the bow or the blade to anyone who dared doubt his abilities. Nerves were for other people, people unsure of their own abilities.

Hanzo's first arrow was off center. Not by much, mostly likely only noticeable by himself and Genji, but it was still off center. The hum of, “not bad,” from somewhere behind him did nothing but add further frustration.

The second arrow almost missed the target entirely.

Teeth grit, Hanzo drew and released arrow after arrow as the target in front of him was filled with a vague cluster of hard-light arrows, their shafts slowly disappearing as they timed out. A glance to the scoreboard and his grip on Stormbow hardened.

Hanzo narrowed his eyes and fought to push past the ringing in his ears, sweat dripping down his face. He drew back again and again and again. Shooting until his hand and wrist ached. Drawing on the power of the dragons to shoot even faster, although his audience had gone quiet some time ago. No doubt his rapidly fraying control was clear to those watching. His average score did not improve. His hit percentage was embarrassingly low.

Hanzo had had enough. He whipped around to face those still watching. Glare sharpening as his hair ribbon swung to hit him in the face. Winston, Song, Genji, and of course, McCree were the only remaining witnesses. Who knew when the others had left. No doubt they were unimpressed. Hanzo stomped to stand in front of the blasted cowboy, finding himself further irritated for having to look up at the man. His ears rang. He could feel the pressure increasing behind his temple.

“Leave,” he forced the word through his teeth, still breathing heavily.

The man wrinkled his nose and was about to retort, before Genji placed a gentle hand on his shoulder. Neither man said a word, but with whatever passed between the two, McCree seemed to concede to the request. The cowboy took off his hat and ran a hand through his hair, turning around and returning it to his head with a mutter of, “performance anxiety.”

Hanzo held every ounce of his willpower to prevent himself from striking out, clenching his jaw until the man finally left, the door to the shooting gallery closing behind him. The pressure in Hanzo’s head eased significantly. The shrieking buzz brought down to more of a hum. He straightened his posture, and turned back to the three, no two, that remained. It seemed as though his brother had snuck out along with the cowboy. Only Commander Winston and Agent Song remained.

The former appeared uncomfortable. The latter looked bored.

Hanzo took a breath and closed his eyes. “I apologize for both my attitude, as well as the lackluster performance,” he said. Releasing another slow breath, and feeling more at peace, he opened his eyes and turned towards Agent Song, “Please record this,” he asked calmly. “You will only bother me for a repeat performance if you do not.”

Agent Song scrambled for her pockets as Commander Winston began to reply, but cut himself off as Hanzo abruptly strode back to the middle row of the range. He had no desire to hear the ape’s half-hearted compliments. His pride was battered enough for one day. Instead Hanzo gathered nine arrows, one for each of the gallery’s rows. Although, only the adjacent targets were actually visible at this angle. He would have to release the other arrows blind, using only the curve granted by his release of the fletching to hit the targets.

Yet this time when he drew back and felt the slight glow of the dragons, he knew he would not fail.

_Nine arrows, nine shots, three seconds. Each point landing with a perfect bullseye._

Breath. Pull. Release. Three seconds later, Hanzo turned back to face the pair. Commander Winston sat with his jaw dropped. Agent Song’s grin gave off a truly chaotic aura, her phone held in front of her.

Hanzo scoffed and drew one final arrow, still facing his audience. “ _That_ ,” he said, “is what I am capable of when I am not held back.” He released the arrow and strode out of the room without another word, secretly pleased that Agent Song would be stopping anyone who’d listen to show off her video of Hanzo splitting his own arrow, the hard-light target smoking and shorting out behind him.

 


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I always wanna leave comments here but I don't want to give anything away.

 

“So do I got enough HP to make it another round or should I stop here?”

A moment of silence passed before Hanzo’s elbow was nudged by a stocking-clad foot.

“Agent Song this is a gross misuse of my powers.”

“Yeah yeah, so should I go back or not?”

“...”

“...”

Hanzo sighed as he set down the tablet from which he had been reading and closed his eyes. “Buy the overpriced mushrooms from the shady merchant and that, combined with your team’s abilities, will allow you reach the final floor.”

“Yes! Shut up and take my money you stupid exploiting bastard!”

Hanzo turned back to his tablet, attempting to straighten the slight smile on his face. The tablet, as well as a com, had both been gifted to him by Commander Winston following the success of his first real mission.

There had been rumors of a group of raiders sweeping through national landmarks in Thailand. Local unrest had been on the rise, and the government had been either unable, or unwilling to do anything about it. Overwatch had received a tip off on one of their networks, and Mercy, D.Va, Mei, and Hanzo had been sent to Ayutthaya to investigate and potentially defend one of it’s main historical sites. It was good for a first mission. Probably just surveillance. Commander Winston thought it unlikely they would find anything. Hanzo had known better.

The mission proceeded smoothly from beginning to end. After setting up base near the ruins, It took Hanzo less than an hour to identify a suspicious group holed up in a nearby hotel, and confirm them to be the raiders in question. No sooner than did the intruders step foot on the temple’s protected grounds, than did they find themselves cornered by a giant pink MEKA. The quiet hum of Mercy’s power-boost adding an intimidating feel to the air. The group swiftly turned tail to run, only to find their escape cut off by a brilliantly placed ice wall by Dr. Zhou. The targets surrendered even before realizing Hanzo’s lurking presence in the balcony. A victory without firing a single shot. Even Dr. Ziegler had to concede her approval. As for Hanzo? The outcome was never in doubt.

Back in Gibraltar’s main common area, Agent Song cried out as her character fell to the ground and the words “Game Over” appeared across the screen.

“Ah! What!?! Hanzo!” she exclaimed, turning to face him. “You said I’d win if I kept going!”

“I said no such thing,” he replied, smiling down at his reading. “I said only that you would reach the final floor.”

Agent Song groaned loudly, leaning backwards over the sides of the armchair and letting the controller fall from her hands.

“You are the _worst_ fortune teller _ever_.” She huffed and picked the controller back up, grumbling under her breath as she reloaded the last save.

Despite some of the team's initial misgivings, Hanzo had proven himself to be a contribution to the team. He was a threat in close combat, a competent defender at mid-range, and outright deadly as a sniper. He hardly had cause to summon the dragons in battle, their supernatural presence seldom needed to secure victory. Even when paired with an unfamiliar team, Hanzo could swiftly learn and adapt in order to best balance the group.

Unless of course if the cowboy was involved. If the McCree was in the room, there was a noticeable decrease in Hanzo’s aim, his strategies full of gaps, and his mood always took a turn for the worst. After Hanzo’s first performance on the training grounds, and after weeks of attempted simulations with the team, it became something of an unspoken rule never to pair Hanzo and McCree together. Even just spending time on base the two rarely interacted with each other.

While this arrangement of avoidance was much to the preference of Hanzo, it did _not_ make Genji happy. His brother seemed convinced he only need to get used to the cowboys presence. That Hanzo should just adapt to being partly blind, partly numb, partly incompetent as an individual. The very idea was unacceptable.

Hanzo did not understand why Genji pushed so hard for him to become acquainted with the cowboy. He didn’t understand why Genji would even ally himself with the man! Genji had admitted that McCree still affected his abilities, but he would never elaborate to what extent, or how explain he worked around them. Instead, he’d simply push for Hanzo to, “make friends” with the man. He tsked just thinking about it. Why!? For what purpose? What advantage could such a partnership possibly have?

Hanzo later tried to look into his brothers reasonings, but perhaps sensing Hanzo’s intent, Genji had taken to avoiding him except when in the presence of the cowboy himself. Using him as a walking, talking, block of Hanzo’s powers. If he could only catch him alone without his visor for just a few seconds...

As for what the cowboy thought… Hanzo truly had no idea.

It wouldn’t have been so bad if the man would just stop _staring_ at him all the time. The cowboy was constantly sneaking around him, seemingly watching for him to make a mistake. While it was clear he didn’t didn’t trust Hanzo, the man could have at least been more subtle about it. Even without the mental buzz that signaled the cowboy’s approach, the man made no effort to hide his presence. Watching him in the hallways. Staring at him in the kitchen. Even during separate group training sessions, Hanzo could feel him scrutinizing his every move.

Did he doubt Hanzo’s skills? His motivations? Did the man not realize that his gaze was like a vice on his mind? That his very presence caused Hanzo grief? Either the man did not know, and was thereby an oblivious fool, or he did so knowingly, and was even worse for finding his amusements above the success of the team.

The cowboy brought out nothing but the worst in Hanzo. Like an actual living headache. Why should he ever wish to associate with something that made him inadequate as a person? No, Hanzo would rather lock himself up in his room again than purposely spend time with the man.

Once Hanzo was officially added to the missions line-up, it had taken little effort on his part to convince Commander Winston of the benefits of keeping their schedules separate. That it was to everyone's best interests that they work apart. That it was safer and more efficient. And in general, most everyone had agreed.

At least until Russia.

The mission began much the same as the others before it. The team sat gathered in their base within Volskaya Industries, strategizing the upcoming mission. St. Petersburg had been a hotbed of corporate backstabbing ever since the company's security breach, and their intel predicted an attack from one of Volskaya’s competitors, an attempt to steal tech on their prototype mechs.

The team itself consisted of Winston, Lucio, Mei, Hanzo, and a handful of Volskya’s own agents. One in particular had caught his attention.

_Aleksandra Zaryanova. Powerful. Fierce. Gave up on her lifelong dreams to keep her family safe. Would give up anything to protect those she cares about. Does. Not. Like. You._

Hanzo blinked as he focused. Hmm, that was fair.

Together the team determined defense point strategies and plans of approach. Ideally they would keep any fighting to the building zone outside of the main factory. Their variety of warehouses would provide adequate cover while minimizing attack routes from the enemy.

Hanzo sat off to the side of the discussion, he had his own preparations to make. Mentally scout the map, assess the team’s strengths and weaknesses, prepare for the outcome. He closed his eyes and concentrated.

_The enemy comes from the library. They take shelter in the manor. One sneaks around the far side. An explosion. A distraction. The defense point falls. A retreat. A chase. Not a second to spare. They came as four. They leave as five._

Hanzo opened his eyes.

The mission would succeed. His abilities were not well suited to group predictions, but his own future was clear, and it’s course was enough to cement victory in his mind. Difficulties would be had, but the tech would be secured, and it seemed as if “Ms. Zaryanova” would soon become “Agent Zaryanova.” Everyone would make it back in one piece, perhaps not happy, but whole. It was good enough.

Hanzo briefly chimed into the discussion to share his thoughts of a secondary defense. A “point B” in case anything were to go wrong. He gave the commander a knowing glance. The gorilla nodded his head, reading between the lines. Hanzo didn’t often give advice, but the team had learned to listen when he did. They adjusted their plans accordingly.

It wasn’t until the explosion went off and Hanzo spotted the culprit, that he realized how they had managed to get around the deep frigid water surrounding the area; modified grappling hooks. The attackers were not Talon, but it seemed as though they had picked up some of their tricks. He would have to see if he could manage to take one of the tools for comparison. Ah, there was another enemy on the catwalk behind the point. Apparently attempting to sneak up on Hanzo, they would do. He dispatched them without a glance with an arrow through the throat. The body would be forgotten by their allies. He would let the Commander know about them later.

For now though, the defense on Point A was falling. Enemies streamed through the choke as the ground team sought out the source of the the explosion. It was time to fall back.

Agent Zhou was nearly halfway to Point B when the shot rang through the air. Striking her thigh. Hanzo turned to her as she cried out in pain.

_Clean entry, clean exit. No major vessels hit. Oncoming enemy halted by Ms. Zaryanova. Agent Lucio arrives to assess and treat the injury. The three retreat without any further difficulties._

Agent Zhou’s breath was visible as she panted in the cold air. The pool of blood beneath her grew steadily as she half laid on the ground, only just behind the cover of a small transportation truck. Hanzo stood paused mere meters away. He could see her shaking.

Just that morning, Agent Zhou had made breakfast for the mission team. She had laid out plates of American style pancakes, each one arranged to look like a snowman. Three drops of batter laid in increasing size. Chocolate chips and blueberries for buttons and eyes. Carefully cut bacon for arms and a hat. It was a kind and unprompted gesture. It was one of the sweetest things anyone had ever done for him.

Hanzo passed her by as she called for him. He had already wasted too much time.

Hanzo climbed the half-wall leading into the factory proper. Three enemies had made it through, and they already had the data they had come for. One end of the structure was open to the water and Hanzo watched for the approach of the speedboat they would use as a getaway and…  _there_. He released the arrow and hit his mark. The boat slowed in its movement, coming to bobbing stop several meters too far for the enemy to reach.

Hanzo stood up calmly. He had completed his role. The three panicking enemies spotted him, training their guns in his direction. Hanzo merely tilted his chin, arms resting at his sides, as a roaring, enraged gorilla slammed into them, knocking them off their feet before pinning them to the ground. One of them passed out.

That was the last of them. Mission complete.

 

* * *

 

Commander Winston was not happy.

It did not matter that the mission was a success. It did not matter that dangerous tech had stayed out of enemy hands. It did not matter that Overwatch had gained the support of Volskaya Industries. That Mrs. Volskaya herself had offered their company's future assistance. That Ms. Zaryanova had been inspired and felt compelled to join their ranks. Hanzo’s personal contributions to key parts of their victory did not matter.

Commander Winston was not happy. Hanzo had left an agent behind.

Hanzo had sat silent throughout the mission debrief. He had said nothing as Agent Santos stood up, posture defensive, and accused Hanzo of leaving Agent Zhou for dead. Hanzo kept his eyes forward and his expression blank as Agent Zhou admitted to having felt scared and abandoned. He instead sat patiently in his seat until the rest of the room was cleared upon Commander Winston’s orders.

The Commander paced back and forth down the length of the room, clearly agitated, occasionally glancing at Hanzo.

“I don’t even know what to say to you!” Winston began. “Overwatch is more than just a team. We’re a family! I thought you understood that!” He stopped to face Hanzo head-on. “I thought you of all people would realize what that means.”

Hanzo could feel the pain in the Commander’s voice. He closed his eyes and followed the script in his head. “She was never in any danger.”

“She- what?” Winston pulled back before stepping forward. “She was shot! You watched her get shot in the leg, stared as she cried for help, and left her-!”  
  
“To be found by Agents Santos and Zaryanova,” Hanzo interrupted, voice raised. “Who were more than qualified to handle the situation.” He continued in the silence that followed. “Had I gone to her I would have accomplished _nothing_. The only thing that would have changed is that the enemy would have been free to escape. That the Triglav Mech prototype blueprints would be in the hands of some very dangerous people right now.” Hanzo’s voice lowered, “I knew what had to be done. Had I paused for even a few moments longer, the mission would have failed.”

Commander Winston stared at him. “I- I’m glad that didn’t happen but… stopping to help someone is never worth ‘nothing.’” He sighed as he took a seat,

“Why didn’t you say anything?” he asked. “During the flight back, during the debrief, why didn’t you say anything to Mei after she’d been shot and abandoned!?”

Hanzo gripped his hands where they sat on his lap. His thoughts churned. "I knew she'd be fine," he said.

“You don’t really see what you did wrong do you?” Commander Winston said slowly, mostly to himself. “Genji warned me that left on your own you hear and do nothing except what you think you’re supposed to.” He paused to consider, “This must be what he meant when he said it was dangerous.”  
  
Hanzo closed his eyes as he felt the Commander make his decision, as he felt his future slip to black.

Winston raised his head, voice steady. “You leave me no choice. I hereby assign you on probation for the foreseeable future.”

Hanzo knew what was coming and felt his chest drop.

“Starting tomorrow, you will be under direct supervision by Agent McCree. You will eat together, train together, spend your free time together. You need to work past only thinking of the future, we need you _here_ in the now.” Winston gave him a meaningful stare. “Either you learn to how be part of the team, or you’re not part of the team at all.”

Hanzo wanted to object, wanted to cry out against the unfair judgement against him, but knew he would have to accept this decision. It was one of the few things he could still clearly see. He instead gave a short nod and stood to leave. “Understood,” he said, letting the door close behind him.

Hanzo’s posture wilted as he made the slow trek to his room. The noise from the rec room quieted as he passed it. He did not turn to look. His head already hurt. The “foreseeable future,” looked to be a very long time indeed.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Actual interactions with McCree next chapter! Only took us a whole month!  
> Writing speed will drop off once November ends (to make time for podfics) but rest assured this story is far from over!
> 
> Kudos to you if you figured out which game Hana's playing in the beginning.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have GOT to give myself more time to write.  
> (thanks for waiting)

Hanzo laid on his side in bed, eyes open, watching the clock as it ticked over to 9:22 AM. On any normal day he would have been up by now. On any normal day he would have been out for his jog, eaten his breakfast, and would already be on his way to the training grounds to continue his daily routine.

But no, he could not expect that to be the norm anymore. He couldn’t presume to expect anything anymore. His days were to be on the whims of a stranger, a cowboy. He lay on his back as the dragons twisted in his gut. It seemed even they knew that once he left this room they would have no control over their future. Hanzo groaned and sat up, this behavior was disdainful. He should at least get dressed.

It was past noon by the time the knock on his door finally came. Hanzo had spent the past several hours fidgeting restlessly, attempting to do some reading without really absorbing the words. Torn between irritation and relief, he stood to answer it.

He slid the door open, and found Agent McCree’s hand raised as if to knock again.

“Oh, uh... guess you’re up after all,” he said. The man looked irritated, possibly constipated.

Hanzo brow furrowed, “Yes of course.” He paused, “ _You_ are the one I waiting on.”

“You what?” The cowboy pulled back, thrown off balance. “I sent a message to ya last night!" he exclaimed. "And another one this morning!” Noticing Hanzo’s unknowing expression he added, “You...  _do_ have a com don’t you?”

“I… yes of course,” Hanzo replied. Where could it have gone? He turned around, wracking his brain for where he might have placed it. He didn't have _that_ many things, so it had to be around here somewhere. He began shuffling objects around the room as the cowboy, who he should _really_ start thinking of as Agent McCree, stood somewhat awkwardly in the open door. 

“Well, uh,” the cow- Agent McCree said. “You can always use the app on your tablet.” He pointed to said tablet, still sitting on the edge of Hanzo’s bed.

Hanzo stopped his current search of the closet, “Oh, I see,” he said. He picked up the tablet, scrolling through the icons for what might be a communication app.

He must have been taking too long. The cowboy had stepped forward into the room, leaning over him slightly, “It’s uh, that one.” He hesitated before tapping a circular logo with his finger, and a variety of lists and names popped up. “Haven’t you…been using it?” he asked.

78 unread messages from Commander Winston, 56 from Genji, and 143 from Agent Song. There were a few from some of the other agents, and even one from Athena, the base’s A.I. He hummed, Athena’s message was at the top of the list so he opened it first, steadfastly ignoring the 2 unread messages from “J. McCree.”

“No, I have not.” Hanzo replied. “I’ve never had to rely on technology to communicate with others.” The message consisted of organized lists of Overwatch archives, seeming to cover everything from agent dossiers, to general rules about sharing space in the kitchen. Hanzo admitted to himself that this tool might be more useful than he thought.

Halfway absorbed in reading an outdated “New Agent F.A.Q.” Hanzo realized the cowboy had been staring silently since he’d last spoke. He looked up to find the man squinting at him oddly. His mouth slightly open, his brows scrunched low.

“What?” Hanzo asked, suddenly on the defensive.

“You mean all this time you’ve been showing up to training and meetings without actually knowing about them?” He asked.

“Of course I knew about them!” He waved the tablet. “Just without the use of this!”

“And during missions?” Agent McCowboy continued, his voice growing louder. “You telling me you don’t even carry your com!?” His head pulled back in astonishment. “That’s why you can’t find it isn’t it?!”

“And why should I bother!” Hanzo snapped, stepping forward into the cowboy’s space. “If it’s something important I’ll know about it! And I wouldn't be struggling to find the blasted com if you would just leave this room!”

“But that’s just ridiculous!” The cowboy exclaimed, very clearly _not_ leaving the room. He threw up his arms, looking around as though he were lost. “Even if your crazy brain powers let you read people’s mind other people can’t read yours!” He turned to Hanzo, searching his face for some sort of answer. “No wonder no one knows how to deal with you!”

Hanzo bristled, “I do not read minds! My powers-”

“That ain’t what I’m saying and you know it!” Agent McCree yelled, pointing at him. “If you don’t even- if you can’t- ya gotta _talk_ to people to-” he cut off, pressing his lips together. The cowboy tipped his head down, closing his eyes and pinching the bridge of his nose.

A sudden second of clarity, _the desk_. Hanzo stepped over to it, pulling open the drawer. Inside were several pens and a pad of paper. He reached underneath them to find the missing com and the small headset device he was apparently supposed to have been wearing during missions. "Found it!" He turned back to the cowboy, chin raised with a smug grin of victory.

The air grew stale as the cowboy continued to stare blankly. He no longer seemed angry, but he was certainly not impressed.

After several moments the cowboy quietly asked, “How are you still alive?”

“Excuse me!?” Hanzo stood straight, “I’ll have you know I-”

“No, no!” The cowboy waved a hand, shoulders slouching. “Not like- I mean-” he looked up at Hanzo, and then off to the side. He crossed his arms. “I’m gonna have to rethink how we’re gonna do this,” he mumbled.

Hanzo wasn’t sure what he meant. He didn’t know what the cowboy had planned in the first place. So, as was seeming to be the only thing he could do around the man, he stood, and he waited.

Seconds passed. Then a minute. The cowboy opened and closed his mouth several times. He sat down on Hanzo’s desk chair, then stood up again. Hanzo was tempted to explore more of the apps on his tablet, but he found himself hesitant to look away. Hanzo fell as though he was missing… something. Was this a test of some sort? Was the cowboy using his ability (whatever it might be) to look for something? His head buzzed with the prolonged eye contact, but he felt as though he would fail if he so much as blinked too slowly.

He hated this. He didn’t know what he was supposed to say or do here. He didn’t know long he was supposed to wait like this. If he was even supposed to be waiting. His hands fidgeted with the button on the side of his com. His patience worn thin, he was about to demand the cowboy speak or leave, when he finally spoke.

“Okay,” Agent McCree said. “Okay, here’s what we’re going to do.” He glanced over at the clock. “Take the rest of the day to read over those messages. Send some back. See what it’s like to have a conversation that’s not one-sided.” He straightened his posture, “Send _me_ a message about what your normal routine is like. As detailed as you want to make it. Starting tomorrow we’ll follow it as close as we can. Then I’ll do what I can to help.”

“Help?” What was he talking about? “I don’t need-”

“Ya do,” McCree pointed a finger, nearly touching his chest. Hanzo clenched his hands to resist slapping it away. “I ain’t got no way to explain it but you do.” He shifted to point at Hanzo’s tablet. “Read and send some messages. I don’t care if it feels redundant, fucking communicate.” He waved at the air, “See if you can’t get Hana less pissed off at everything.” He turned toward the door with a sigh, looking older than when he had entered. He turned towards the door, “I’ll... see you tomorrow.”

The door closed behind the cowboy as the dragons settled. Hanzo looked down at the many messages he had to read. The fog began to dissipate from his mind. At least the rest of his afternoon looked to be less confusing.

 

Using the messaging app was… different. Hanzo had previously only used his tablet for casual reading, but was slowly conceding to its usefulness in other ways. With the cowboy out of the room he could foresee his own actions again. Could see how he might phrase things, or when he might get a response, but it was difficult see the reactions of those he was messaging. If he concentrated on the correspondents face he could somewhat glean feelings, but it was still rather dubious. It was almost made up by the fact he could interact with others without leaving the comfort his room. There was a small space for pictures by each user’s name. He would have to see if adding photographs would help clarify his visions.

Conversing with Agent Song was simple enough. Most of her earlier messages consisted of her attempts to plan game nights. Hanzo belatedly realized he only had himself to blame for her habit of barging into his room for attention. At some point she must have realized he did not read his messages and had turned their conversation into a live-blog of sorts. What game they were playing, how he “very obviously cheated.” One of her favorite things seemed to be sending him pictures of his own “resting bitch face,” as he resolutely ignored the camera.

At Hanzo’s first message of, “I regret learning the existence of this app,” he had received several surprised emojis and a few excited messages from Agent Song. At least until she remembered she was supposed to be mad at him. At which point she demanded he tell her “what the fuck kind of drugs he was on” and they eventually made plans to meet later that evening. He knew she wanted to at hear his side of the story and was using the excuse of wanting to play some sort of bubble puzzle game to try and dull the question. The details on their conversation were still fuzzy, but Hanzo could tell that the results would be acceptable. He knew she would not be wholly satisfied, but she would not leave the room with a glare like the others would when he went to dinner later.

Messaging with Genji was… less easy. For one thing, Genji was previously aware of Hanzo’s tendency to avoid technology in this fashion, so most all of his messages consisted of Genji directly complaining about him. Things like, “I can’t believe you broke the target, you are such an overdramatic asshole,” and “You need to clean the fucking sink when you trim your beard, I know it’s you no one else uses goddamn tea tree beard oil.” The messages were rude, frustrating, and occasionally nonsensical, but the hopeless nostalgia Hanzo felt at reading them made him hesitant to reply for fear of losing the feeling.

Hanzo typed and deleted and retyped several messages multiple times, before slamming the com onto his side-table. He would deal with the rest of the messages later. He knew he would have to reply to his brother eventually, but putting off the inevitable was a common enough occurrence when it came to Genji.

He ate his dinner alone that night, but it did not bother him. Agents Zaryanova and Zhou had been there upon his arrival, but their conversation fell into silence as he gathered his food. The pair was gone before he sat down. He did not blame them. He expected nothing less. It did not bother him.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter will be happier! I promise!


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I lost my voice a little so less podfics more writing!

 

Gravel slid under from Hanzo’s heels as he dashed around the top curve of the trail, throwing his arms out for balance as he crested the hill and began his sprint downwards. Breath heaving slightly, he glanced back and grinned, seeing no signs of the cowboy.

The morning air was cool and crisp, his mind felt free and clear. He slowed his pace to more of a proper jog, working to slowly catch his breath.

It hadn’t been Hanzo’s intent to outrun the cowboy. At least not at first. The man had show up at Hanzo’s door at 6:00 AM sharp, dressed in shorts and a tank top, ready to join Hanzo for his morning run. He was still wearing the hat.

Hanzo hadn’t known what to expect when McCree had asked for his daily itinerary, but it hadn’t been for the cowboy to simply follow him around like an alarming 6’ tall puppy. No, not a puppy. Hanzo liked dogs. More like one of those creepy dolls that elderly people seemed to collect. Endlessly gazing and mentally unsettling. Yes, Agent McCree was like one of those cursed things.

Hanzo slowed his pace further to try and gather his thoughts. He had time. The cowboy had fallen behind less than halfway up the trail. He had kept up a decent pace, but was no match for Hanzo's determination. Yet even as he focused his gaze inward, he felt the mental walls rise, his paths slammed closed. 

He scrunched his brow as the grip of his visions faded from reach. He turned to look behind him on the trail. No one was there. What did- Hanzo let out an undignified yelp as the cowboy nearly crashed into him as he careened downhill past him. _Directly_ downhill past him.

The whooping idiot wasn’t running the trail as it switched back and forth toward the watchpoint. No, he was racing through the trees and the brush in a straight line downhill, flailing one arm in some semblance of balance and holding his hat to his head with the other, laughing like a crazy person as he crashed through the brush, fading from sight. The pressure on Hanzo’s mind eased as he came to a stop in dull amazement.

This!? This is who he was supposed to learn from? Who he was supposed to see as an example of model behavior? Hanzo tried to glean _something_ from the few visions he could see.

_Find  a... sock. Realize it’s not a … blanket. Become upset about… noodles?_

Hanzo shook his head. It was no use. What choice did he have but to follow the man? He set his jaw and picked up his pace towards the bottom of the trail.

He met the cowboy on a patch of open grass part way back to the base. He was lying on his back breathing heavily, his hat finally knocked off and lying upside-down next to his head.

“Ha!” he exclaimed, once he noticed Hanzo's presence. He punched at the air with a fist, smiling like a child. “I win!”

Hanzo turned away as the man sat up and peeled off his tank top, using it to wipe the sweat dripping from his face and chest. The action did little but allow dirt and grass to get caught in his hair. His extensive amount of hair.

“It was not a race,” Hanzo said, looking back despite himself. A small leaf looked to be trapped in the curls on his chest. Disgusting.

“No?” McCree winced as he brushed at the scrapes on his legs from running through the underbrush like an idiot. No doubt the salt from all his sweating was making them sting. “Could’a fooled me.”

Hanzo held his tongue, seeing no way to explain his motivations without making it look as though he were literally trying to outrun his problems.

As if the cowboy somehow realized this, his smile grew. He stood up, gathering his hat and shirt. He glanced shortly at the tank top before shrugging and tossing it over his shoulder. Though he did put on the battered hat, squashing the ridiculous thing over his still damp hair. Hanzo could only imagine how rank the thing must be.

The cowboy let out a breath, gesturing for Hanzo to lead the way back to the base, “So, shower, then breakfast, then the training grounds right?” McCree asked.

Hanzo nodded. The shower would be especially welcome. After their impromptu “race” he was feeling less than fresh himself. The man behind him began whistling to himself, seeming pleased for some reason. Hanzo worked to keep his gaze in front of himself, truly wondering who was supposed to be leading who.

* * *

  
Hanzo growled and only just resisted throwing his hard-light bow to the floor of the shooting gallery. His jaw ached with the strain of grinding his teeth together. He glanced to the cowboy leaning back in a lawnchair he had pulled from somewhere. His legs were splayed rudely, his garish belt buckle catching the light. Even worse, Agent McCree’s attention was razor focused on Hanzo’s performance. His lackluster performance. Never before had Hanzo wished for someone to show less interest in his skills.

For possibly the hundredth time Hanzo squared his shoulders and closed his eyes. Searching for… something... anything! Some guide as to what he was doing wrong. As with every time previous, Hanzo found nothing but a hard blank wall, a sharp pain in the back of his skull, and the ever growing irritation of his dragons. He was too tired to properly hide his wince.

The cowboy sat up with a sigh, “All right, I give. This isn’t working.” He pulled off his hat to run a hand through his hair. Hanzo found the break in his gaze was more refreshing than a glass of cool water. McCree’s stare returned as he replaced the hat and held his chin in hand.

“I just don’t get it,” he said, shaking his head. “I might not know much about archery, but even I can see your movements are all wrong, completely different than your vids.”

Hanzo’s eyebrows rose. There were cameras all over the base but he had thought the footage-

“Naw naw! Not like that!” the cowboy waved a hand. “Just the training sims.” His eyes glanced around the room. Was he flustered? “I started watching ‘em after that first day. Genji had talked you up for weeks and then ya show up and can hardly hit a stationary target? Then soon as I turn and leave you fight like some kinda god? I couldn’t just leave it at that!”  
  
Genji had “talked him up”? What did that mean? He surely couldn’t have said anything positive about his abilities considering Genji’s first-hand experience...

The cowboy continued before he could ask. “They’re amazing. You’re amazing!” he said, gesturing with his hands. “The way you move we could drop you unarmed in a pitch black room full of angry badgers and I bet you’d still win,” he slumped forward, “but if I’m there? If I'm watching? Poof! That’s all gone. You're worse than stiff. Like you got boards tied to your limbs. It’s like you forget how to move.” He sighed and leaned back again. Silence fell.

Other members of the team were spread throughout the training grounds, but were giving them a wide berth. Regardless of their reasons, Hanzo was grateful. The closest were Agents Fareeha and Zaryonova, who seemed to be setting up mats to spar. Agent Zarya noticed Hanzo’s gaze and raised her chin with a huff before turning away.

“I got it!” Hanzo nearly jumped as McCree snapped his fingers, the metal of his prosthetic causing a loud crack. He pointed to the two women. “We’ll watch ‘em spar! Get you used to following others body language, see what it's like to predict moves that way. That alright with you ladies!?” McCree yelled this last part over to the pair.

Agent Fareeha waved back with a “Yeah, sure, whatever cowboy.” Agent Zaryanova bounced a glare between the three of them, before shrugging and getting into position.

Hanzo watched carefully as the pair slowly circled each other and the fight began. He was... unable to glean much of anything from his observations. Some strikes hit, some missed. Some hits barely grazed, others looked painful. But none of it meant much to Hanzo. He had never really been able to read body language, he’d never had to. It was like listening to someone speak a foreign language, knowing the speaker was saying words, knowing that the words meant something, but being unable to know how to respond or react. He fidgeted slightly, trying to think of how to explain the uselessness of this exercise when the cowboy spoke up.

“Well alright then,” he sighed. “Yer not getting anything from this are ya?”

It was spoken like a question, but phrased like a statement. Hanzo remained silent. It seemed McCree already knew the answer.

Once again, Hanzo wasn’t sure how he was supposed to react. He was glad the cowboy had seen how lost he was, but was but he couldn’t help but wonder how he had noticed in the first place.

“Just cause you can’t read me doesn’t mean I can’t read you," he said with a sly grin. "And before you ask, no I don’t mean reading minds.”  
  
Hanzo’s mouth snapped shut. He looked to the cowboy, waiting for him to continue. He didn’t. McCree kept his eyes on the fight. _He_ could follow their movements just fine it seemed.

Had he access to his abilities, Hanzo would know in an instant who would win. All of this middle business didn’t matter! .... did it? He watched the cowboy as he observed the pair, wondering just what McCree saw that he could not.

Some moments passed. “Do?” Hanzo hesitated, looking between McCree and the bout. The man glanced at him without turning his head, humming … in acknowledgement? Hanzo was pretty sure that meant he was listening. “Can _you_ tell who will win?” Hanzo finally asked.

McCree smiled at him. He’d of course seen him smile before, but this one seemed different somehow. Hanzo realized that question might have been the first one Hanzo had actually asked McCree. He wondered if that meant something.

“I don’t,” McCree replied happily. Hanzo’s shoulder’s dropped, irritation mounting, before he continued, “But I do know who I _think_ will win.”

Hanzo waited, then gestured for him to continue, “Well? And?”

The cowboy stood up and offered the chair to Hanzo. “Sit down. Watch them closely.”

After a moment’s hesitation, he sat. He stiffened as the cowboy leaned over his shoulder, placing one arm of the back of the chair. McCree’s eyes were still on the match, but his face sat almost uncomfortably close to his.

“Don’t look at me, look at them.”

Hanzo did so, resolutely ignoring the close proximity.

“They’re both strong, and neither is much faster than the other,” McCree began. “You could also argue that they’re strong in different ways. Zarya’s better in brute strength no question, but Ree’s got military training, and her techniques are powerful. This is all stuff we can know before the fight’s even begun. You read their dossiers yet?”

Hanzo nodded as he watched Agent Zaryanova attempt to grapple Agent Fahreeha, only to stumble as Fahreeha sidestepped and struck Zarya’s opposite shoulder, nearly knocking her off balance. Both Agents were breathing heavily.

“The hits were coming fast at the beginning, but it’s a game of stamina at this point,” McCree continued. “Both are watching the other’s movements to try both to plan their defense as well as- Ooo! She’s gonna go for a kick!”

Soon as the words were out of his mouth, Agent Fahreeha threw a high kick at Agent Zaryanova. The pink-hair woman easily blocked it with a forearm and nearly grabbed the offending leg before Fahreeha managed to jump back and pull it away.

“Great example!” McCree exclaimed. “Neither of them work in kicks too often so I’m sure she was trying to throw her off her game, but she pulled at her workout pants. That’s a real obvious tell.”  
  
Hanzo turned to the cowboy, to ask what that meant, not seeing how the two were related. He reeled back slightly, having forgotten how close they had been leaning.

McCree, for his part, didn’t seem to notice. “People shift their clothes all the time; checking their pockets, pulling at the edges of their shirt. Every movement has purpose. Just before Ree made that kick she pulled at the fabric on that leg to make sure she had full range of movement, but Zarya caught on and and was more than ready to block it.”

“And she saw that?” Hanzo questioned. “And you saw that she saw that!?” He kept his eyes on the pair circling each other once again. Had Hanzo been in Zaryanova's position he was sure he would have known to block, but he wouldn't have known _why_. The cowboy said every movement held meaning but surely he did not _every_ movement. What about outside of fights? What about everyday life? For the first time in a long time, Hanzo believed he might be missing something. Possibly a whole lot of somethings. There was time to think on that later. “So who will win?” He asked again.

“Ree’s good, but Zar’s got her beat in stamina. Most days this would end with Ree face first on the mats, bitch'n for a rematch in her rocket suit.”

Hanzo could almost hear the unsaid ‘but,’ and waited for McCree to continue.

Again, the cowboy seemed pleased. “But today we’re watching. And Zar knows we’re watching. She’s newer to Overwatch, and feels like she’s got something to prove to us, especially to you. And she’s paying waaaay too much attention to the two of us whispering to each other like gossip girls.”

No sooner did Agent Zaryanova glance their way, then Agent Fahreeha dash forward, striking Zarya in the chest just below the ribcage. The air forcibly pushed from her lungs, she wheezed loudly, leaning forward, her hands to her chest.

Agent Fahreeha continued her attack, swinging a leg to strike her flat on her back, pitching her forward. Agent Zaryanova fell hard, forced to stay there by Fahreeha kneeling high on her shoulder blades, holding an arm up and back.

Zaryanova struggled, tried to buck off her opponent. Agent Fahreeha pressed harder, pulling the arm further back at an awkward angle.

She pounded her free arm on the mat, spitting bitterly in Russian before yelling, “FINE! FINE! I give!”

“Fan-fucking-tastic,” McCree breathed, clapping Hanzo on the shoulder as he stood and walked to congratulate the pair on their bout. He lent a hand to help Zaryanova up, who accepted it only to lock McCree in a mock head-lock, the three of them laughing and throwing quips good naturedly.

Hanzo remained seated in the somewhat uncomfortable lawn chair. There was much absorb. McCree’s focus had been off of Hanzo for most of the fight and yet Hanzo came to realization that he had not attempted to sneak any visions. That he was hardly tempted to do so even now. The dragons buzzed curiously in the back of his mind.

Hesitant though he was to admit it, perhaps there was something to learn from Agent McCree after all.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The boys'll get there. Give 'em time.
> 
> Current expectation for chapter 8 is sometime in February.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I added a potential chapter count cause I SHOULD be able to get what I want done in three more chapters, but this then again, I was only expecting this whole thing to be around 5,000 words. So really, who knows?

 

The mood was _perfect_. The fireworks were starting. They had accepted his jacket. It was now or never. He could do this!

Hanzo took their hand, moving to close the distance between them when-

“I’m sorry SHIMADA-SAN,” they stepped away. “You’re a good friend but I don’t think this is going to work out.”

The screen faded to black.

Hanzo dropped his head to the back of the couch as his character reappeared on the dating simulation’s overworld menu. He let the controller fall to his lap. He had grown to hate the bubbly tin of the music.

“Alright,” he groaned. “What did I do wrong this time?”

When Agent Song didn’t immediately respond he turned to look over at the other side of the couch. Her face was pinched. That could mean a few things. It could be she wasn’t paying attention and was stalling for time, or that she didn’t have an answer herself. Or… it could mean he missed something he shouldn't have and she didn’t want to have to tell him.

“Well…” she drew out the word, avoiding his eyes.

Dammit. That was a bad sign. That meant it was probably something obvious. He turned next to the armchair tucked in the back corner of the room. The cowboy was eating crackers from a box with a chicken on it. He finished chewing and swallowed before speaking.

“Ya brought up her Dad,” he said.

“And that was wrong? What! Why!?” Hanzo exclaimed. “She was close to her father! I listened to her backstory!”

“Yeah," Hana added. "But bringing up the still unsolved case of your Father’s murder, doesn’t exactly set the mood for a romantic date,” She reached to tap the menu button over Hanzo's hands to check their stats. “But don’t worry! You still got two weeks till the end of the school year! You can still- oh wait she dropped down to 3 stars.” She sucked a breath in through her teeth. “Yeah that’s gonna be a tough one.”

Hanzo just sighed and bemoaned the state his life had come to.  
  


He was still adjusting to the new routine he and McCree had cobbled together. It had taken some effort, but Hanzo was slowly adjusting to life without his visions. His dragons being suppressed both by McCree, as well as himself. Hanzo had found that McCree’s interference with his abilities was less if McCree looked away or closed his eyes, and he had initially tried to take advantage of these gaps, but somehow the man always seemed to catch him any time he tried to sneak glances into the future. Grasping at nothing felt too much like failing. It was better to just hold it in.

Training was slow going. Before, Hanzo had not given much thought to his own movements. You see a vision of you throwing a fruit climbing a wall firing an arrow and sticking the fruit to a target on the other side of the room? Great. You know you can do it. You’ve _seen_ yourself do it. It’s not confidence, it’s not arrogance, it’s an inevitability. Simple as that. Before, when he first saw himself take up the bow, it was simple. He foresaw himself grow into a master archer, and so he did. Build a little muscle, find yourself a good bow, and you're more than halfway there.

This though, this was like running blind, like talking with your mouth full. Not impossible, but … difficult. Now all he had as basis were online instructional videos and old footage of himself in the training grounds. There was little instinct here, instead he had to examine himself in the smallest detail if he wanted to replicate the desired result.

Wrist? There. Elbow? Further back. Breath in. Breath out. Release. Hopefully hit the target. It was nothing like learning archery the first time.

Even though he knew he could do it, knew he _had_ already done it, none of that seemed to matter. Training with the cowboy was failing, examining your failures, and then repeating that over and over and over again. It was using a combination of trial and error, and sheer stubborn determination until you got it right. McCree insisted that that was normal. He said that’s how people learn. That that’s what “practice” is.

If this was how normal people "learned" things it was a wonder anyone became a master of anything.

It was more than just physical training too. Part of every day consisted of what McCree called “emotional training.” They would talk about what social things Hanzo had learned that day from his observations. Things like, “Angie drank three cups of coffee before ten and still looked ready to murder someone. Why?” or “Torb’s wife made him that new sweater he’s got. Does he likes it?”

The questions were sporadic and ridiculous. Irritating if for no other reason than that he could never seem to get it _right_. While Hanzo was improving with his physical training, he couldn’t quite seem to disentangle others emotional exchanges. He could go through the movements, knew roughly when to smile or frown in a conversation, but he could tell he was still missing something. Some click or connection to … he didn’t know what.

When Hanzo had complained about it to Hana she said it reminded her of some of the Omnic Empathy Classes she’d heard of. It had been her idea to use slice-of-life style video games as a stepping stone to understanding emotions better.

Hence the dating games. At first it had been fine. It was like any other strategy game, just with a different end goal. Then it had become apparent just how bad he was at them. Making guesses more often than not, and struggling to understand even the “obvious” clues. At this point it was just embarrassing.

After a solid week of this brightly colored torture, Hanzo felt he would rather fight McCree naked with nothing but spongecake and a kazoo than spend another minute trying to romance yet another pink-haired protagonist.

“Seriously Hanzo,” Hana leaned over and spoke quietly. “I know you can do this, you were so close that time!” She glanced sidelong towards McCree, “If we can just ditch your babysitter for five minutes we can-”

McCree called out from across the room, “Y’all better not be plotting to cheat over there!”  
  
Agent Song shot the cowboy a dirty look. “You know I don’t like it when you call it that.” She kneeled on the cushions to look over the back of the couch.

Hanzo turned to face away from them with a sigh. The pair had recently been on edge with each other. Agent Song seemed to have taken her irritation with Hanzo from that disastrous success of a mission, and piled it all onto McCree. Clearly she did not appreciate having her “living cheat-code” locked down.

McCree half-shrugged in his seat, “Well it’s true ain’t it?”

“No,” she said harshly. “It’s really not.”

The dragons, who were normally subdued in McCree’s presence, buzzed curiously with McCree’s attention on Agent Song. He preemptively pushed them down.

McCree scrunched once side of his face and sighed. “Look, I don’t care if you cheat on the normal games-”

“It’s not cheating!” she shouted. Hana was standing on the cushions now. She seemed truly upset, leaning forward, her hands gripping the couch to keep balance. But… Hanzo was not sure why. He looked back and forth between the two, still feeling the press of the dragons on his mind.

The cowboy sat up out of his slouch, “Now listen here young lady-”

“No _you_ listen!” she interrupted. “I’m not even talking about the video games! You go on and on about how Hanzo _needs_ to do this or _shouldn’t_ do that. You push in one direction and hold him back in another, and you haven’t even noticed what it’s doing to him! You talk and brag and go on like you’re doing this great thing, like you know exactly what you’re doing, but have you even once tried to listen to _him!?_ ”

Yes, Agent Song was angry. But _at_ him? No? She was angry _for_ him? That was… something. He didn’t know what.

“You’re forcing all this change on him without even trying to look from his point of view!” She continued. “His visions are a part of him! By cutting that out you’re telling him to be someone he’s not. I’d be like telling me to fight without using MEKA! Or you without your gun!” 

“Hey, I’ve fought without ol’ Peacekeeper before, and your a mite terror with your pistol-”  
  
“You’re still not listening!” Song’s shoulders dropped, and her voice lowered. She seemed to have lost some of her steam. “Yeah we can make do without our guns or whatever, but it’s not easy.” She looked over at Hanzo, “And if we’re fighting weaponless it’s probably ‘cause something's gone wrong.”

She faced McCree once again, “And those are just guns! Things! This… this is Hanzo! A person!” She waved an arm at him. “Family is supposed to support you! Not control you!”

McCree had fallen still.

Hana dropped back down onto the cushions. Her chin resting on folded arms. “Sorry I yelled, but whatever it is that we’re doing…  I think we’re doing it wrong. We don’t tell Genji to fight without his dragon. And Genji wouldn't be Genji if he didn't deflect forks into the ceiling every time we make waffles." She smiled for a moment before falling back into a frown. "Keeping Hanzo from his dragons isn't right.” She leaned back on one of the armrests, kicking her feet at Hanzo’s side. “Our boy’s got some things to work through sure,” she shook her head, trying for another smile. “But we need to fight them _with_ him, not against him.”

She leaned her head back to throw a harsh look to McCree. “This? What we’ve been doing? What we’ve all been doing? It’s hurting him.” She looked straight at Hanzo. “Even if he doesn't know it.”

Agent Song, settled back into the couch as near silence filled the room. The bubbly tune of the game still chimed quietly.

Hanzo gripped the controller. Hurting him? What did she even mean by that? He wasn’t injured. The dragons continued to press against him. He continued to ignore it.

It was quiet, should he say something? Was he supposed to? Neither had said anything directly to him, but should he be reacting somehow? They were just sitting there. McCree wasn’t even looking at him. The dragons pressed harder.

The armchair squeaked as Agent McCree stood up and walked over to the couch. Hanzo started slightly as Hana took the controller from him and went to turn off the system. She tucked everything away and turned off the main display. He watched her nod to cowboy as she turned to leave.

Now it was truly silent. McCree sat down on the corner of the couch Agent Song had occupied and leaned forward, hands clasped together. He opened his mouth and started to turn to Hanzo, but seemed to stop himself, snapping his jaw shut and glaring back at his hands.

Hanzo remained silent. His arm buzzed. He gripped his forearm to keep it steady.

“Is it true?” McCree finally asked.

Hanzo’s leg twitched as he fought to understand the question. “Is… what true?”

“Is this… are we hurting you?”

“How could I be hurt? I have not been on a mission in weeks.”

The answer seemed to distress the cowboy. Hanzo flinched as McCree turned to look at him and the dragons fled from the forefront of his mind.

McCree quickly turned away again. “Shit, this… family… fuck. This is like what those elders did to you.”  
  
“What? No!” Hanzo flinched again as the cowboy reeled to face him. “This- this is different. You…” Hanzo struggled to find the words. He didn't know what to say or how to say it.

“Heh, yeah you’re right,” McCree said, laughing without humor. “What we’re doing might be worse. Not only are we trying to control what you do and how you act…” He swallowed and ducked his head, “We’re forcing you to change who you are. We're taking away a part of you.”

Again, Hanzo said nothing.

“Come on Hanzo,” the cowboy pleaded. “Get mad. Tell me I fucked up. Just- Say something!”

“You-” Hanzo started, hesitated. “I don’t know what I’m supposed to- I don’t know what you want me to say.”

“No that’s not what I-” McCree started before dropping his expression into something serious. “Use it,” he said, hat still over his eyes.

“What?”

“Your future vision or whatever. Use it.”

Hanzo could feel the dragons spin through him. It felt like something he didn't have words for. “But is not the whole purpose of this exercise to live without…” he paused, “cheating?”

This time it was McCree who flinched, “Yeah okay I deserved that one,” he muttered. “So lets say I’m wrong. Give it a shot.”

Hanzo hesitated only a moment more before sliding his eyes closed and finally embracing the pull of the dragons.

_Joy. Surprise. His own, others. Unexpected tears. Small but strong hands gripping him tightly. A hug. Words. Many many words. Understanding. Another hug. HOPE._

The thoughts and feelings flew through him in a rush of color and sound and emotion. It was like a breathing air after being held underwater. He was hit with such raw bursts of emotion that he fought to catch his breath, shocked at the hint of damp at the corners of his eyes. It almost hurt.

“Uh, well?” McCree asked. “What did you see?”

It had really only been a small vision. Just a glance into later that evening. Hardly anything at all. But somehow it had still been overwhelming. Had he really been holding back that much?

Hanzo took a breath to steady himself. “Hana,” he said. “Later tonight I will visit her room and we will talk about much and I will thank her. She-” breath in, breath out. “She defended me greatly just now. I just didn’t understand that until I- until just now.” He looked down at the swirl of stormclouds decorating his wrist. The dragons still pulsed gently as he breathed with them. “She understood I felt lost and trapped. Even without me saying anything. She could see I had grown blank even if I didn't, couldn't see that.” He stroked a hand over scales of ink with a small smile. “She will attempt to lighten the mood by making reference to some zombie-like creature I am unfamiliar with. She will pretend to believe me when I nod as if I understand."

“I never really…” McCree began, “I didn’t even try to get to know you. I didn’t even think about it.” He turned to look at Hanzo, but there was somehow less pressure than before. Like the dragons were under a blanket instead of behind a wall. “I didn’t know what what we were doing to you. I’m sorry.”

Hanzo could still feel the slight smile on his face. He didn’t push it down. “To be fair, I didn’t know either.” He shrugged.

Agent McCree laughed in spite of himself, shaking his head. “Looks like it’s my turn to do some learning. How ‘bout we call it a night for now?”

“Yes, I think that would be good,” Hanzo agreed. He had somewhere to be after all.

Standing in front of Miss Hana’s door was like seeing in color again. Seeing her smile bloom at Hanzo’s expression was like feeling the sunrise after a dark and cloudy night. Feeling the warmth of her hug was even better in person than it had been in his mind. It felt like the start of something. Something new. Something like family.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter got away from me but I REALLY like how it turned out.  
> I hope to have the next chapter out next month.  
> 


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ho-shit! Look at me writing stuff! (over like four months) But hey! Here we go!

 

It had taken Hanzo weeks to adjust to McCree’s methods of training. It took McCree two days adjust to Hanzo’s.

Hanzo had known that eye contact strengthened his visions, and that McCree’s eye contact with him all but made his abilities disappear, but what Hanzo hadn’t realized was that McCree had noticed that fact from day one. That McCree knew Genji still had difficulties predicting him, and that he had had an advantage in knowing how to handle “sneaky Shimadas.” McCree even admitted (eventually) that when Hanzo had first arrived to the watchpoint that he had made a point to scrutinize the archer as much as possible to throw him off his game.

At first McCree had thought it was funny. Then he was doing it to try and help. As time went on, McCree realized he had gotten so used to following Hanzo with his eyes that he actually seemed frustrated that it took two whole days to break the habit of following Hanzo with his eyes.

The difficulty of this habit was apparently heightened with the fact that Hanzo “glowed.”

“You mean when I summon the dragons?” Hanzo had asked during their evening’s target practice.

Despite all that had happened between them, the pair still found themselves shooting in the range together, the challenge of their opposing skills turned into unofficial competition of sorts.

Hanzo would use his dragons for guidance, and then McCree would push back in an effort to keep Hanzo from beating his score. But of course, if McCree didn’t concentrate enough on his own shooting, his initial points suffered, and thus the pair inevitably worked towards a balance.

With practice, and with the exception of some of his more fancy trick-shots, Hanzo could now shoot normally (for him) with McCree standing in the very next lane.

Hanzo patiently waited for McCree to finish his round. The loud echo of “Peacekeeper” echoing through the grounds. They were both using hardlight ammunition for practice, but McCree insisted that dampening his girl for training took away from her "personality.” Hanzo wondered when the man’s quirks had changed from irritating to endearing.

“Nah, it’s not that,” McCree replied while reloading. He spun the gun excessively, seeming to throw and flip the weapon without much thought. “Any time either you or your brother touch your dragons your marks light up.” He shrugged, “‘course I with Genji I thought it was a cyborg thing. Color me surprised when you first stepped off that dropship looking like some half-cracked glowstick.”

“Anytime we?” Hanzo paused to contemplate. “But I am nearly constantly…” Well, that explained how McCree always seemed to know when he was attempting to use his powers. “What about when the dragons are corporeal? When they touch this plane of existence?”

“Aw hell,” McCree shook his head. “It’s something else I’ll tell you that.” He moved to raise Peacekeeper, then paused to give it some thought, the gun held loose in his hands. “It's a bit like starting at the sun. Only it don’t hurt your eyes.” He leaned forward, staring out into the middle distance. “There’s a type of pressure behind it. I can’t rightly tell how I stare them down to be honest. Yours or Genji’s.”

Hanzo set his Stormbow to the side, this was one topic on which he had been endlessly curious. “So how _do_ you do it? Push their power down I mean. You must have some idea.”

McCree gave him a sheepish glance before turning away, trying to hide a smile. Hanzo could feel the dragons pressing against him, and he now knew the cowboy could surely tell.

“I uh… not sure how to explain it really,” he lifted and dropped a shoulder, glancing at the time before holstering Peacekeeper. “It’s like... staring at a windmill to get it to stop spinning?” He almost seemed uncomfortable. “By all rights it shouldn’t work, but somehow it always does.” He straightened up and brightened by a degree, “I can actually use it to tell where you are too!” He held up his hands cupping them apart from each other. “You know how you can tell where a fire is even if you’re not looking at it? How you can feel it’s heat? It’s like that.”

Hanzo stopped in his movements to pack up Stormbow. His expression grown still. “You mean- In the beginning- All those times you-" he struggled to bite the words out. "You seemed to show up wherever I went any time I- You- On Purpose?!” 

McCree had the impudence to look embarrassed, his head ducked down far enough he knocked his hat with his shoulders. “I... thought it was funny?” he tried.

“McCree!” Hanzo stomped over before remembering how pointless it was to glare at someone who could avoid your gaze by simply staring over you. He made up for it by grabbing at McCree’s collar, forcing the man to look down at him. “I spent weeks wary of the halls outside of my room!” He narrowed his eyes, evenly enunciating each word. “You had me afraid to brush my teeth.”

McCree’s expression jumped from ashamed confusion, to poorly restrained glee. The cowboy’s face scrunched up as he fought to keep the grin off his face, bumping into Hanzo as he attempted to pull back, making ridiculous choked-off snorting sounds.

His fist curled in the folds of McCree’s shirt, Hanzo realized this was the closest he’d ever examined the man. Especially without McCree’s focus on him. If Hanzo’s presence was a warm fire, then McCree was a cool drink sitting in a warm room. Maybe not as noticable, but he understood being able to feel the “cold” without touching it. The comparison struck him as odd, especially considering how physically warm the man was in actuality.

McCree fell back as Hanzo abruptly let go, landing on his ass and bursting open with laughter. His face gone red as he struggled to catch his breath.

Hanzo ignored the heat in his own face as he concentrated on the vaguely McCree-shaped void he could feel in front of him.

Hmm, interesting. It gave him an idea that just might work.  


They tested Hanzo’s theory the following morning on his favorite jogging trail. Hanzo took off at a sprint, while McCree tried to follow his “glow.” Then as Hanzo felt that distinctive void approaching he would switch gears or speed up. Run off trail, climb up a tree, anything was game so long as it accomplished the goal of getting away.

While an effective method of practice, and an unexpectedly rigorous workout, it was easily the most ridiculous form of cardio he had ever took part in. It seemed to be a recurring theme.

“Cardio and evasion exercises Miss Song!” Hanzo had had to defend himself when the duo dragged themselves to breakfast, both of them covered with scratches from the forest’s brush. “We are trained agents. We are not ‘playing tag!’”

Somewhat surprisingly, McCree promptly agreed with Hanzo. Although it may have been, if for no other reason, than that if it was a game, McCree would have to admit that he lost.

 

* * *

 

Hanzo’s “graduation” took place not long after. The both of them feeling ready for Hanzo to prove himself ready to rejoin the team.

Their final test was a virtually simulated mission set in Fort Castillo; team elimination, first to 3 wins. It had been previously decided that overall victory was not a requirement to pass, but for Hanzo? He needed it.

The teams had been built of volunteers. Balanced as best they could by Winston. Hanzo was paired with Agents Santos and Reinhardt, while the opposing team consisted of Agents McCree, Zaryanova, and the elder Amari.

The first few rounds were shaky. After Volskya, Agent Santos was understandably hesitant to follow Hanzo’s lead, and while Agent Reinhardt was endlessly optimistic and almost forcibly cheerful, Hanzo had spent too little time with his teammates for them to adjust to his habits. There had been no opportunity to build trust.

Still, hope was not lost. Even facing McCree and his opposition, Hanzo had faith that he could turn the match in their favor. He just had to work for it. Foreseeing their tank be eliminated, Hanzo took a flashbang for Reinhardt. Knowing an explosive charge was set for their healer, he took a hit for Santos. Hanzo endeavored to put everything he had into _showing_ them he had changed, that he understood the difference between working around a team, and working _with_ one.

Out of breath after two lost rounds, Hanzo looked up from respawn to see McCree and Zaryanova high-five and bump elbows. He braced himself for McCree’s mental buzz as he turned towards Hanzo, taunting happily.

“Hey Shimada! No hard feelings right?” he called with a wink and a grin before turning back towards the starting area.

Agent Santos skated over, amping up his rejuvenescencia as he pulled up next to him. “Aw don’t listen to him! We’ll get the next round!” he said unconvincingly.

Hanzo closed his eyes gratefully as the musics's soothing tones washed over him. He breathed in.

_The doors open. Climb the wall. Direct teammates to the left. Lunge to avoid the sleep dart. Call out the elder Amari’s position. Arrow. Firestrike. Healer down. A blur within the vision. The blur disappears as it is slammed into the wall. The clock counts down. The tank falls._

_One._

_The doors open. A melodious rush into the back streets. Signal to hold. Call to lift the shield and strike while their tank reloads. The remaining opponent stands as null force at their backs. Take the hit and fall, so that they in turn may take swing of the hammer._

_Two._

_The doors open. Wait. Sonic arrow to the left. Direct team to Slowly. Quietly. Sneak up the stairs. Stand stationary near the spawn as a decoy. Wait. They appear. The soundwave sends all threats over the end of the cliff._

_Three. Victory._

Hanzo opened his eyes and breathed out. He turned to the young man with what might be called a smirk. “Yes,” he said. “We will.”

 

* * *

 

Post mission victory, Agent Lucio (“seriously stop, no one calls me Santos”) was attempting to teach Reinhardt the new secret handshake he and Hanzo just foresaw/made up on the spot, when Commander Winston ambled over.

“So! Uh..” Winston began.

Hanzo stopped him, nodding his head in a short bow. “Please, no words are necessary,” he said. “I can see the apology you have formed to say, but I believe we have both made our share of mistakes.” Hanzo pushed his expression to smile in an attempt at reassurance. “There is no need to embarrass ourselves further.”

“Oh! Well I-” Winston started and then jumped slightly as he was hit in the head with a wad of paper. They looked to see the other spectating agents as they approached, Miss Song mouthing the words “don’t you dare,” from atop Agent Fareeha’s shoulders.

Hanzo rolled his eyes for her benefit as the Commander straightened up and cleared his throat. There had been no chance of Winston simply thanking him, approving him for missions, and going on his way, but he had tried anyways. Hanzo tuned out the apologetic gorilla, knowing that he would be going on for several minutes, rambling off topic in several instances, and thereby trapping him to be surrounded by several groups of congratulating teammates.

Hanzo supposed that wasn’t so bad.

He grinned once more as he caught his brother’s approach. Waiting for just the right moment, he side-stepped the congratulatory shoulder grab, and thawapped Genji on the back of his, for once helmet-less, head.

“Wa-Ow! Hanzo! What the hell?!” Genji exclaimed, rubbing the back of his skull despite it having obviously not hurt him. Much.

“Firstly,” Hanzo began, pointing a finger at the younger ninja’s face. “Because you were wrong and I’m mad about it. Secondly,” he straightened up and turned away. “Because you were right and I’m mad about it. Thirdly” He turned back with a gleam in his eye. “Because of every smart-ass text you have sent me since my arrival to Gibraltar.”

Hanzo savored the rare instance of jaw-dropped Genji.

“You- What-” He sputtered. “Since when do you read your messages?!”  
  
Hanzo shook the slight sting from his hand. “Since McCree pointed out its usefulness in communication.”  
  
Genji was still rubbing the back of his head, “But why did you hit so hard?”

“Any slower and you would have seen it and dodged.”

“Why are you…” Genji trailed off, squinting his eyes.

The shadow of a question whispered at the edges of Hanzo’s awareness, but a cool buzzing feeling had settled over him. He turned towards the cowboy staring at him a little ways away.  
  
“McCree! Blink!”  
  
“Wha? Oh, yeah, sorry.” McCree turned away.

Hanzo pulled back, thought for a moment. “You’re surprised because I am answering your questions?” he asked.  
  
“Uh, well yeah.” Genji replied. “I mean normally you’re all silent and mysterious, like I should already know the answers to all your dumb questions.”

“Well I generally thought you…” Hanzo trailed off with a hum. That was something to meditate on.

“But never mind that,” Genji waved a hand. “What was that ‘blink’ thing about?”

Hanzo watched as McCree returned to teasing Lucio and Reinhardt for their sneaky ‘play of the game’ despite the two of them being some of the team's loudest agents.

“The two of us discovered that McCree can somewhat suppress his... powers for short periods of time. Even when staring at me.” Hanzo began slowly, still watching the cowboy. “But it can not be held for long periods of time. Similar to holding one’s breath in a way. Besides which, his powers are also a part of him, we would not want to force him to restrain _his_ powers needlessly.”

McCree caught Hanzo staring at him this time. The cowboy tipped his hat with a flourish, waggling his eyebrows, and Hanzo huffed a laugh. Hanzo still did not understand even half of McCree's seemingly endless supply of mannerisms. He was quite sure most of them were made up. The man seemed to take pleasure out the simple act of stumping him.

Genji seemed to staring blankly for a moment. His expression as unreadable as if he had been wearing his mask. “So McCree stares at you quite a lot then?” he asked after a time.

The question seemed casual, yet Hanzo suspected some underlying meaning to it. Before he could ask however, Genji ducked away from his brother, scurrying over to the cowboy to hang his arms around his neck.

Hanzo didn’t catch what was said but scoffed when McCree quickly stepped away and tried to hit Genji with his hat. He missed.

Hanzo restrained a smile. “I just told you!” He called. “You cannot hold back if you want your hit to land!”

Those around McCree laughed as he spun and flailed his hat to hit indeterminately at those around himself. Several agents took this as a sign to disperse, and began to leave the training grounds for elsewhere.

On her way out, Hanzo caught the eye of Dr. Zhou, before sighing to himself at her immediate drop in expression.

“Hey,” McCree asked softly, having made his way over. There was still certain ruddiness to his cheeks. “What’s wrong?” His eyes followed Hanzo’s to see Dr. Zhou exit, the scientist's eyes glued to the ground as she left.

“Ah,” he said, having apparently figured it out. Hanzo was begrudgingly impressed at McCree’s ability to understand so much from so little. “I can understand her reasoning, I suppose,” he continued. “Still, it’s a bit unlike her not to forgive and forget.”

Hanzo shook his head. “It is no matter. I would not ask her to.”

“Yeah well, wait… wait just a minute,” McCree turned to look at Hanzo more directly. “I mean, you have asked her right?”

Hanzo watched as the last few agents left and shrugged. “What good would it do? It would change nothing.”

“Wha- Aw come on! You don’t know that!” he tried encouragingly.

“McCree,” Hanzo gave him a dry look. “You can not change the future.”

“Wha- Sure you can! Ya just did!” He gestured in the direction Genji had left. “You saw your brother go for a dodge and hit him anyway right!?”

Hanzo furrowed his brows, “No. I saw myself hitting him quickly in the first place.”

McCree’s shoulders drooped, “So you’ve seen your apology get shut down? Really?”

“Well, no,” he said, caught off balance. “But I gave my reasonings at original mission’s debrief.” He looked away. “They were rejected. She will not forgive me.”

“Hanzo no,” McCree sat a hand on Hanzo’s shoulders. “I mean an actual apology. An ‘I’m sorry this happened’ kinda thing.”

“But…” Hanzo hesitated. “If things had not happened as they had, we would not be where we are now. The mission would have failed, and we would not…” Hanzo’s breath caught oddly as he realized McCree’s close proximity. The man seemed torn between making eye contact and actively avoiding it.

Hanzo gathered himself, shaking off McCree’s grip. “All of this has been… a trial.” He took a breath and closed his eyes, feeling the brush of the dragons. “But the future is that much brighter because of it.” He opened them again to look at McCree. “I do not think I could be sorry for that.

“I… oh. That’s uh… wow.” McCree shook his head. “But no, I mean,” He gathered himself. “Did you want Mei to get shot? Did you want her to think she was being left to die alone?”

“WHAT!?! No! Of course not!” Hanzo exclaimed. “Even the first time I met her and I foresaw the vision of that mission I knew she would not deserve such a-” It was Hanzo’s turn to grab McCree’s shoulders as a previously unanticipated possibility occurred to him.

Hanzo held his hands and voice as steady as possible, “MCCREE. BLINK.”

“Uhhhh,” McCree continued staring forward. His face close enough that their noses nearly touched.

Hanzo literally took matters into his own hands, covering McCree’s face with his palms. The visions cleared well enough as the cowboy sputtered and stepped away. Hanzo felt his face grow pale.

“She really thought I… but if that… until just now…” Hanzo’s voice began to rise in panic. He fought to keep his breath under control.

She _would_ forgive him. He would go to her before the day was done and formally ask her forgiveness. She would grant it seemingly before the words were even out of his mouth. It would be easy.

But that was not what was caused him to crouch towards the ground, head between his palms, eyes staring blankly into the middle distance, the dragons spinning wildly beneath his skin. McCree’s bewildered questions buzzed through the air as just more background noise.

He and Dr. Zhou would never be friends. That had been certain. That had been seen. Now he could see the pair of them folding paper snowflakes this winter. Comparing embarrassing reading material over freshly bought tea. Hanzo could see himself seeking her advice regarding-

The visions were pushed away like a cool breeze of air. McCree was crouched in front of him, staring intently. His hands carefully held in front of himself, not quite touching him.

“Hanzo please,” he said. “What’s wrong.”

Hanzo swallowed dryly, “You- you cannot change the future.” He stuttered out. “But then-” he stopped and started again, shaking his head. Hanzo looked to the side. Imagined himself picking up nearby chair and throwing it.

_The chair flies through the air, bending upon impact. The blur in the room grows loud. Confusion, disappointment, anger._

The future is seen. It is absolute. Hanzo abruptly stood up, throwing McCree off balance to land in a sprawl. Hanzo took a step forward, then stopped himself. Forcibly. Purposefully. Changed his mind.

_The chair stays where it is. A cool blur attempts to guide him to it, he goes. Hesitation, compassion, understanding._

McCree slowly pulled himself off the ground. Hesitating only a moment before gently steering Hanzo to sit down in a nearby chair.

“Please Hanzo,” McCree repeated again, holding onto Hanzo’s hand. “Your dragons are all over the place, even with me-” he cut himself off. “What can I do to help?”

Hanzo leaned into McCree’s grip, shivering at the brisk force pushing against his whirling thoughts.

A minutes silence passed and McCree moved to stand, “Let me go get you some water. Maybe that’ll-”

“No!” Hanzo gripped McCree’s arm, pulling him back down.

Hanzo knew he was being confusing and childish. He did not care. This was bigger than any future embarrassment he might experience. This was… It meant…  he was going to take whatever form of comfort he could grasp. But… but McCree did not understand. He needed to explain. Needed to form the scattered thoughts into words. He tried again.

“The future cannot be changed. But then you said…” Hanzo pushed through the churning in his gut. “And then I changed my mind.” He breathed in and out. “And the future _did_ change.”

McCree remained still for a moment before speaking, “I uh, I’m still not sure I understand darlin’.”

Hanzo loosened his grip on McCree’s arm. Instead holding his hand between both of his. He tried again, “I changed my mind, and it changed the future. If I-” he cut himself off again. Watched as McCree rubbed his thumb across Hanzo’s knuckles. He looked up into the cowboys face, shaking his head. “It's impossible! It’s ridiculous! Nothing is true!”

Hanzo pulled away from McCree’s grip for fear of crushing the man’s hand, holding his own fists in front of himself, fighting to regain some composure. “The future was certain because I was certain. Now that I know the future can be bent nothing is certain!”

His hands shook, “And- and if that is the case,” Hanzo’s breath began to quicken once more. “I could have changed things! I need not have lost my legs! I need not have lost MY BROTHER!”

Hanzo had put everything he had into disproving that first vision he had had as a child. _Everything_. But no, apparently not. Apparently he was a fool of an imbecile who could have simply ‘changed his mind’ and not- and Genji- He could feel the dragons roil in arcs off of his body. He was not sure when he had stood up, and only realized it when McCree stood huddled in front of him once more, again not quite touching him.

“So those are prosthetic then?” He asked. “Not just fancy boots?”

“What? I- yes. J-just below the knees I-”  
  
“That mean you can open a bottle with your toes?”

“You- I- What?!” Hanzo froze and shook his head, looking the cowboy up and down, bewildered to find a hesitant smile on the man’s face.

McCree straightened and shrugged, lifting his metal arm in a gesture. “Opening beer bottles with this thing is easily it's best feature.”

Hanzo blinked dumbly at the man.

“Hanz, listen.” He reached to take Hanzo’s hand this time. He gripped it tightly between them. “I can practically feel you tearing yourself up over this. And if I think I get what you’re saying then hell, that’s a hell of a revelation to get through.” He shook his head. “But if there’s one thing I know, it’s that regrets don’t change the past.” McCree seemed lost in his thoughts for a moment before focusing back on Hanzo. “You wanna talk about it? Fine. You need some time to yourself? That’s alright too.” He paused slightly before pulling Hanzo in for a hug. “Just don’t let this tear you down after you’ve worked your way this far partner.”

The dragons pulled back completely at McCree’s embrace, lying still and quiet. The hug was warm, while McCree’s mental presence was cool. The contrast of sensations was… nice. Hanzo hesitated a moment before raising his arms in turn. 

McCree rubbed a hand between Hanzo’s shoulderblades as they slowly pulled apart from each other.

“So,” McCree asked. “What you wanna do?”

Hanzo rubbed a hand up and down his face. “I… have much to think on… and multiple apologies to make, but-”

He shifted on his feet, and gave McCree his best attempt at weary smile, “I think there might be some beer bottles in the kitchen.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have approximately 0 regrets over this chapter.   
> That "can Hanzo open bottlecaps with his feet?" joke is one I have been sitting on since Blizzard officially announced Hanzo's legs as non-prosthetic, and we all collectively decided to ignore it.
> 
> Again, the next chapter will happen when it happens. I still know what I all want to do, and I promise it will be done eventually, I just seldom have the brain to make the words do… uh, stuff.

**Author's Note:**

> As always, comments and feedback are appreciated <3


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